FFVI: Beyond Chaos
by Katenesse
Summary: Following the climatic finale of Final Fantasy VI, the Returners are deep in the party spirit when a mysterious guest interrupts the victory celebrations with some globally-devastating news... [Celes, Locke] [Terra] [Edgar] [Sabin] [Setzer].
1. International Day of Victor

Although I published this first chapter ages ago, it's only just occurred to me that I should have written a brief introduction! The idea for this came to me while watching the ending scenes of Final Fantasy VI earlier this year. Immediately I found myself craving a sequel, so this happened! The events that follow take place immediately after the game's ending...

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to Squaresoft/Square Enix.**

* * *

**KEFKA PALAZZO HAD**, at long last, been toppled from his tower. The World of Balance had been restored. The Falcon took to the skies with its brave and beautiful crew all enthralled at their miraculous victory. Cue the end credits.

But the world's eighteen-year-old saviour, Terra Branford, was disturbed by a pressing thought as she dug her nails into the airship's main mast for dear life. "_The end lies beyond chaos…"_

"UUUUAAAAOW!" Gau erupted with glee as he threw all of his weight down on the rickety joystick that served as the Flacon's steering device. The ship groaned as it bent itself upwards, soaring in a straight, vertical line. Setzer hung from the rails, his grizzled, grey hair and grubby overcoat blowing madly against the turbulence. His mouth hung open, but the roar of rushing wind obscured any sounds that were tumbling out. Meanwhile, the rest of the terrified crew had wrapped themselves in, on or around any solid object they could find.

Gau swung from the joystick like an upturned sloth, before throwing himself off the controls, sending the Falcon plummeting down towards the ground like a broken lift-shaft. Setzer seized the joystick just in time, curving the ship up and level with the jagged rocks below, rather than headlong into them.

"Phew! What a rush!" he laughed manically, "well done Gau!" From somewhere behind him, Locke promptly vomited into one of his boots.

"I'd just like to address an issue here," Edgar stated, raising one acclamatory finger as he staggered across the deck in a disorientated zig-zag pattern. His blonde hair hung loose and matted like hay, while his tender, regal cheeks burned red from the wind's repetitive slapping. "Perhaps now that we are free to do what we want… doesn't necessarily mean that we should." There was a collective murmur of pained agreement from the others, who were now uncurling and detaching themselves from their various places of safety. Setzer raised his eyebrows at the windswept crew that had gathered muttering around him. Locke groaned, hugging his boot to his heaving chest.

"You hear that, Gau? You've been voted off The Falcon's Next Best Pilot," Setzer announced in softened tones of mock-sadness. Gau was apparently too busy chewing on the main sail's rope to notice.

"I'm calling a meeting downstairs!" Celes shouted from across the deck, after she had irritably disentangled herself from her white cloak. She tossed back her mass of thick, blonde hair furiously, before beginning her descent down the stair-case, swiftly followed by her wild-haired comrades. Locke lifted his pale, shining face from his makeshift basin, and groaned audibly as the ship lurched again. He rose unsteadily to his feet and tottered between the ship's rails and the steps, unsure whether a secondary wave of air-sickness was going to render him into a helpless, heaving wretch.

Meanwhile, Setzer withdrew a bronze-embossed telescope from inside his coat and surveyed their flight path. Nothing but beautiful, clear, blue skies… unless one counted that mountain range that loomed in the distance. The _potentially_ vast-distance. Setzer muttered some complicated and inaccurate calculations to himself.

"Right, let's leave her to coast. Cyan, don't throw on any more coal, and we should be good for another twenty minutes!"

The airship had returned to pumping and hissing steam in a regular rhythm. Setzer found the entire party assembled in a downstairs room around a plain, pinewood table which had taken the name of the Board Room. Only Celes remained standing behind the chair at the head of the table. Setzer strolled in humming the chorus to 'Draco and Maria' and relaxed in Celes' seat. A flicker of annoyance crossed the young general's features, but she simply placed her hands on her hips and continued on valiantly in the face of such thoughtlessness.

"I call this meeting to establish our next line of action," Celes explained, falling comfortably into her role as commander-in-chief. "We no longer have any obligation to serve together as the war is over. What does everyone want to do?"

It was an odd question. Since the day that a frozen esper, tucked away in the mountains of Narshe, had blown two Imperial soldiers to smithereens and sent a third amnesiac fugitive with rare, magical powers on the run, it had consistently been a case of what do we _have_ to do now. There had never been time to _want_ anything. The question stunned the party into silence. Then, after respectfully timing five seconds in his head, Edgar slowly raised his hand.

"I vote we have a party," he suggested, trying to subtly downplay his idea enough to encourage the others. "We could have a get-together up here on the Falcon. I guess we would send carrier pigeons to all the towns with survivors and just make a night of it. I mean, how often do you get to celebrate saving the world right?" He leant back casually in his chair, crossing his feet on the table as if to add a flourish to his words. Celes glared at the young king until he sheepishly dropped his feet to the floor again.

"I was thinking more along the lines of helping the world back to stability," Celes uttered through clenched teeth, "bearing in mind that an _apocalypse_ hit the world only a year ago, I would have thought there was an awful lot of clearing up to do."

Terra shook her head, frowning slightly at the suggestion. "Actually, no there isn't, Celes. Didn't you see what happened when we were up on the deck back there? The sky and sea turned back to blue again, the grass was suddenly green, except in Zozo, and birds appeared everywhere... it was actually like nothing had changed at all."

"It can't all be fixed _that_ quickly," Celes countered in a pained voice, rubbing her temples with her index fingers, "I mean, there's so much rebuilding to be done!"

"Sorry, Celes," Sabin sighed in a heavy voice, "I know you wanted to help, but the world has officially been restored to balance. It literally all happened about three seconds after Kefka blew up. It was a ridiculously-fast miracle of nature." Celes opened her mouth to respond, but found she was wordless to comment on the impossibility of it all.

"So, to go back to Celes' original question then, what does everyone want to do?" Sabin continued smoothly. When everyone had taken to staring down at their laps in uncomfortable silence, he added encouragingly; "think back to your dreams! What have you always wanted to do? Now is your chance to make them a reality!"

Still no one spoke. Much like a bad smell that no one wanted to admit to, a horrid realisation was sinking into the minds of The Returners. Their sole purpose and goal had been to eradicate Kefka and save the world. Now that it was all _game_ _over_… what else was there to do? Had Kefka actually been trying to do them a massive favour by warning them that their existence was pointless after all? Perhaps if he had obliterated them as promised, they wouldn't be in this terrible, emotional fix. Terra sat chewing her lip, considering all of this and finding it vaguely humorous how theirs was potentially the most ironic story in the universe. It was a very welcome relief when Edgar spoke again.

"So… where did we land on the party idea? No one actually said the word "no" right?"

It certainly served as a necessary distraction. Thousands of invitations were flown down by carrier pigeons to the world's hundred survivors. Setzer turned the ship around and left it lazily drifting westwards ("Come on, Celes! Life is all hit or miss. We'll see what we find when we get there!") Relm had decorated banners which read 'International Day of Victor' (after Gau had sat in the wet paint), and Edgar had sent for several casks of his home-brewed Figaro beer. By nightfall, the party was in full swing, and there were enough people and inexplicable creatures present for the Returners to avoid talking to each other about _"what happens now?"_

Celes had decided not to waste any more time contemplating the implausible laws of physics that operated in the World of Balance, and had agreed to join the growing party upon the ship's deck instead. She gave herself a quick, scrutinising glance in the dusty mirror that hung in the downstairs lounge, before pulling her golden hair up into a tight pony-tail and switching her Imperial General's cape for a tan, sleeveless jacket that matched her leggings.

Upstairs, she found a band of greasemonks playing Figaro's national anthem on a set of steel drums, led by the very same conductor who worked at the Jidoor Opera House. Celes smiled at him as she slipped through a band of scruffy thieves who were eyeing up two women from Maranda with heavy-looking purses. As she grew closer, Celes spotted Cyan, Edgar and Locke leaning by the railings, animatedly re-telling the epic battle the party had waged against Kefka only three hours earlier.

"Should've seen this guy," Edgar explained to a young women with vibrant red hair as he jabbed Cyan in the ribcage with his thumb, "absolute legend with a scimitar. He vanquished a big, old demon the size of this airship! _Vanquished_ him." Edgar repeated the word as though it were a fancy foreign delicacy. The starry-eyed young woman gaped at the Doman knight in absolute awe.

"Oh, t'wasn't just me…" Cyan blustered, his cheeks prickling with heat. He heaved himself away from his companions. "King Edgar has a chainsaw, you know? Perchance-"

"Oh sshhhhhh," Edgar interrupted, slinging an arm around Cyan's shoulders and nearly shoving him on-top of his young admirer. In the king's other hand was clasped a beer bottle, the contents of which had slopped out all over the deck. "He's a real gentleman, you know? But when he means business, he means _business_, you know?" The young woman nodded, open-mouthed, showing that she knew. Locke lifted his own beer bottle, flexing what little biceps he possessed as he did so.

"It wasn't an easy fight. There was a moment where I thought we weren't going to make it." Locke took a dramatic breath as his eyes fluttered closed. "I just grasped my dagger," Locke mimed the action, pounding his fist to his chest emotionally. "I stared Kefka in the face and I-"

"Screamed like a little girl?" Celes cut into the circle and waved a dismissive hand towards Ultros, who had perched on-top of an ice-box and was extending bottles with his purple tentacles to anyone who passed him. Locke stared around wildly at her, choking on his last sip of beer.

"I didn't scream!" he protested, before his adamant expression faltered into a look of defeat. "Well, if I did, then I screamed like a Magitek Knight." It was too late, however. The red-haired woman heaved a sigh and walked away towards the poker table Setzer had set up at the other end of the ship. Celes exhaled loudly through her nose, tapping the toe of her boot against the deck's scrubbed, wooden planks.

"The day _you_ become a Magitek Knight, I'll become a chocobo." She turned to glare at Edgar. "Make one joke about riding me and I'll have you singing soprano for the rest of your days." Thinking better of it, Edgar closed his mouth and dropped his gaze to the floor. Seizing the chance to escape the young king's match-making skills, Cyan passed his undrunk beer bottle to Locke and disappeared below deck.

"Fare thee well," Locke sighed monotonously, raising a drink to Cyan's retreating form. He turned to catch Celes' eye and grimaced at the livid hue that was rapidly spreading across her features. "I see you're in a cheerier mood. Are you still sulking because the world magically fixed itself without your divine intervention?" Sensing immediate danger, Edgar side-stepped around Celes, slipped on his own split beer and stumbled headlong into the band of greasemonks. There came a cacophony of metallic clangs and agonised shrieks, followed by the dull thud of a wrench being thrown at the young king's head. A solitary steel drum slowly rolled backwards towards the ship's helm. Neither Locke nor Celes blinked.

~̃*~*~̃

A pale, sweaty man who wore possibly the world's worst toupee, shuffled past the couple, quite ignorant of the raw, unspoken tension. Edgar had hired the Impresario (from the very same Jidoor Opera House) as a party planner, thinking that he would ensure an evening of smoothly-organised entertainment. The Impresario ground to a halt in front of Setzer's poker table, his blonde tuft flapping in the cool, evening breeze. With a scowl and half a dozen choice words, a topless Setzer flung a fistful of cards at the table. Terra triumphantly punched the air, while the other women around the table fell about laughing with glee.

"I know you want to get me out of my pants, but you don't have to be that enthusiastic about it," Setzer snarled. A polite cough from the Impresario, snapped the Captain's head in his direction.

"Excuse me sir," the Impresario implored, "there is a signal being flashed from the rocks directly below us. King Edgar has ordered that the ship pick up any party-goers who wish to flag us down, as directed in the party invitations." Setzer ran a hand impatiently through his unkempt hair and nodded his consent, ignoring the whistles and giggling from his female companions.

"Right. Terra, you can help me with this one." Setzer removed his bronze telescope from the bundle of clothes under his chair, before padding barefoot up the ship until he reached the joystick. Terra pulled on the pair of red, leather boots which she had lost during the poker game, and jogged up the deck behind him.

Setzer held the telescope to his left eye and peered down into the dark, mist-filled air which hung over the rocky canyon below them. In the gloom, he could see a faint green glow which pulsed brightly, then dimmed again swiftly until it faded from view altogether. The pattern repeated itself three or four times before Setzer contracted the telescope and turned to Terra.

"I'm going to descend as far as I can, without hitting the rocks too much," he decided aloud. "Can you lower the crane so she can jump on?" Terra made an impatient noise, halfway between a groan and a sigh. She frowned at Setzer, her violet eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"How do you even know it's a woman?" Terra inquired, reaching out a gloved arm and uncurling her slight fingers for the telescope. "It's far too misty to tell. Let me take a look." Setzer shook his head and quickly pocketed the bronze device.

"I just have an instinct about this," he replied, waving away Terra's opinion as though it were no more than a mosquito. He pulled down on the lever, and the Falcon slowly sank downwards towards the dark canyon. Terra moodily shoved the switch to release the ship's crane, and then tugged down on the control to lower the chain until it reached their mysterious party guest. A great clanking noise sounded, making the ship shudder as the heavy crane swung lower and lower through the night's sky. On deck, the guests held their drinks close to themselves to avoid spillages. Locke inhaled deeply through his noise as he felt the stirrings of nausea take hold once more.

Setzer whisked out the telescope and, confirming the green light had vanished, gave Terra the thumbs up to reel in their unknown companion. Using both hands, Terra hauled the lever upwards until the clanking of the chain ceased. There came a sound of muffled footsteps from below deck which grew steadily louder as the unidentified person made their way up onto the surface. Finally, a watery-eyed man wearing safety specs and covered from head-to-toe in a vibrant yellow radiation suit materialised from the bowels of the airship.

"Professor Cid!" Terra exclaimed, "and here we were thinking you were just another poor, village girl." Here she shot Setzer such a look of superiority that he clapped his hands down on Terra's shoulders and steered her away from the ship's controls.

"Thanks for that Terra," he managed shortly, "why don't you get the professor a snack? There should be some fish around here somewhere."

However, neither of them were prepared for the gut-wrenching wail that emitted from the old doctor's mouth. Setzer and Terra gawped in unknown horror as the professor slid to his knees, sobbing in agony. The greasemonks, who had resumed their drumming, dropped their wrenches in astonishment. Everyone stopped to stare open-mouthed at Cid, who sat with his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Terra knelt and placed a tentative arm on the doctor's shoulder.

"Professor, tell us what's wrong. Maybe we can help?" she tried soothingly. Cid lifted his swollen, blotchy face to hers and gave a great, injured sniff.

"You've _helped_ enough…" he muttered bitterly and refusing Terra's help, he pushed himself awkwardly to his feet. Professor Cid stared around wildly at the faces in the crowd and then announced in a voice like lead:

"The world as we know it… is coming to an end."


	2. It's The End Of The World As We Know It

**THE STARTLED SILENCE** of the party guests was short-lived. Scattered whispers broke out amongst the crowd before, with a pinch of daring, these evolved into full-blown mutterings. One bold individual even offered a distinct 'boo!' Strago, who had been so soundly asleep that the other Returners had propped him up against the airship's main mast and left him snoring with his jaw wide open, gave a sudden snort and snapped his head up straight.

"Whassat then? Whose end is it?" Locke, who found that he had regained bodily control, conceded his dramatic staring contest with Celes and strode forward in what he hoped was a casual manner. He glanced around at the crowd of confused faces, tried his best to chuckle nonchalantly at Cid's stricken expression and then leaned on the old doctor's shoulder, as if they had been friends since their college days.

"It's okay Cid. I know you might not be up to date with international news, having been stranded on that Godforsaken island all this time… but we defeated Kefka and the world magically fixed itself very soon afterwards." He smiled broadly at the professor, his tone taking on that of a parent explaining a rather basic concept to a toddler. Terra leant on Cid's other shoulder, her patronising smile mirroring Locke's. Flabbergasted, Cid's head snapped back and forth between them. As he inarticulately struggled to comprehend their unperturbed demeanours (apparently fuelled by ignorance) his cheeks began to turn purple. Terra rubbed the old man's back and made a soothing noise, as though their surrogate toddler had contracted a mystery illness.

"It's okay professor. Locke's right about the world being restored back to balance again." She pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment from a beaded bag which hung at her waist. "If you look at this map that we had to very quickly draw, it proves that the land mass moved back to its original positions identified in the World of Balance. The seas are back in the right places and all the buildings that had been vaporised incredibly pieced themselves back together and landed _smack_ _dab_ where they had very first been built!" Locke gasped at her over the top of Cid's yellow head.

"Those buildings just landed back where the towns were situated _originally_? But all the people had just got used to the World of Ruin layout. What if the buildings and continents fell and crushed them before they had a chance to realise the world was changing back?" Terra shook her head emphatically, gesturing to Cid and waving her hand against her throat to cut him off in his train of tragic thought.

"Oh Kefka, what have we done…?" Locke muttered sadly to the heavens. Having at long last grasped a handful of devastating words, Cid tore away from Terra and Locke. He cleared his throat noisily; his moustache bristling with impatience as he prepared to fire them into the crowd.

"People of this airship!" he boomed, "the world is in grave danger! Unless we retrieve the source of all life… _every_ living thing on this planet will die!" The strained silence invaded the deck once more, while the reception from Cid's audience was still less than lukewarm. Reaching back into his mind for a way to inspire the individuals before him, Cid decided to try some good, old-fashioned classroom tactics.

"Okay, hands up! Who can tell me what the source of all life is on this planet?" Cid strode before the crowd importantly, his hands clasped behind his back. "Yes – Sabin?"

"The sun?"

"Wrong. Any other guesses? Yes Terra?"

"The crystals?"

"You've got the wrong Final Fantasy, my dear. That's true for pretty much every instalment apart from ours. Guess again – anyone?"

Locke scratched his head. If one listened closely enough, the sound of a cog whirring and squeaking as it got stuck on a raisin, could just be heard. "Like, nuclear rocket fuel?"

"Mr Cole, we're living in an age of coal and steampunk technology. Please be realistic about this." Finally Relm's hand leapt into the air, a look of sheer desperation etched onto her features.

"Oo, professor! It's magic, isn't it?" she cried eagerly, her face flushed with the exhilaration of being top-of-the-class.

There was a great deal of sighing and the stamping of feet as the pale, dawn sky emerged majestically from the East. Birds broke out in a joyous chorus to mark the beginning of a new day and Cid's lecture on _speaking when spoken to_ dragged on for an agonising hour and a half. Scowling, Relm took her pen-knife from where it was stored in her boot and began carving the professor's face into the ship's deck, hoping very much that the impression would come to life and eat the old bastard.

"Grandpa!" Celes shouted at long last, "enough lecturing! Relm's sorry she called out the answer." Almost as if to defy the young general directly, Relm uttered a chilling little laugh to herself as she added the finishing touches to her engraving.

"Fine, fine…" Cid muttered angrily, his moustache almost quivering off his face in irritation, "yes, magic is the key to our survival. And you meddling kids destroyed the source of all magic and… therefore… life!" He pointed a shaking, accusatory finger at Terra, Locke, Edgar, Sabin, Relm, Celes, Gau, Strago, Cyan (who had just remerged from his quarters, looking quite bewildered), Setzer and then Terra again. Terra, who looked incredibly hurt by Cid's onslaught, made a noise of indignation.

"That's not fair. Why did you point at me twice?" she asked, hugging herself with folded arms miserably.

"Everyone has seen you blow things up with those unholy Ultima spells of yours," Cid uttered darkly, "I know you did your fair share of damage on this occasion… admit it Miss Branford!" Terra opened her mouth to argue, but finding that Cid had an incredibly solid point, settled for simply exhaling sulkily.

"Can I just clarify something?" Celes asked, resuming her General's stance and assertive tone-of-voice to match, "Grandpa, you mentioned that we destroyed the source of all magic. I assume you mean the statues of the Warring Triad? Does that mean we have to fix them and put them back in their original positions?" The other Returners groaned at the mere thought of such a tedious task. The other party guests joined in with their own noises of exasperation and complaint, even though they knew they could simply spectate the epic mission from the comfort of their own homes.

"No, no, Celes, dear…" Cid corrected her, sliding a comforting, grandfatherly arm around the general's shoulders, "no the statues didn't retain a grain of magical power after Kefka drained it all. No, Kefka was the source of all magic." Locke slapped an exasperated hand to his face and sunk into a hunched position, moaning as though he were lurching on a raft down a river with only Ultros for company. Cid tried to soothe the comrades with the little ounce of patience he had left.

"Yes, I know it's a bit soul-destroying to think that your life's work now needs reversing, but either we bring that psychotic, omnicidal, megalomaniac clown back to life or we're all dead!" He fidgeted with his hands uncomfortably, expecting a fiercely negative response to his next request.

"So… where is Kefka's final resting place?"

Terra hesitated.

"Well, it's more _places_ than a single resting place." She raised her pale, green eyebrows and mimed a melodramatic explosion with her hands. Cid whistled through his teeth.

"I see. This is going to take longer than expected."

~̃*~*~̃

Setzer landed the Falcon just outside of Narshe and its magnificent, snow-capped mountain range. Now that morning had broken, the sky was heavy and white with clouds. The airship's ramp slid down noisily into the icy ground, allowing the party guests to exit the craft. Setzer waved a lazy hand, explaining that official saving-the-world-business was a priority over drunken frolics and bidding them all a safe journey to their respective homes. A union of voices rose in complaint at the incredible commute to the Southern Continents that they had been forcibly given. Setzer arranged his fingers into an entirely different gesture and waved this in their direction until everyone had exited the ramp apart from Ultros. The Octopus Prince bowed his head reverently at the grey-haired pilot.

"Oh Captain, please let me join the Returners!" Ultros sighed, wiggling his many tentacles earnestly, "I've been fighting for the wrong side for too long. The Empire never paid me for trying to stop three of you pip-squeaks from jumping on the Floating Continent. Then I got fired from the Coliseum…" A few inky tears leaked from the purple creature's left eye. "Typhon said he didn't want a loser like me as a friend anymore… now I have no one!" Setzer made an impatient sound then waved the octopus over to the stair-well.

"Come on then! A good, old-fashioned, official Returners meeting is about to start!" he called as he jogged down to the Board Room.

This time Cid was the one pacing up and down in Celes' place. Celes was sat between the Figaro brothers, the frown-lines just visible on her soft, youthful face as she stoically endured the twins' constant bickering.

"Why do we have to go back now?" Edgar hissed at his wiser and more morally-attuned younger brother. Sabin whispered back a lengthy explanation, of which the only words audible to Celes were 'castle' and 'fire.' Edgar groaned to himself.

"Just have maintenance set the castle in tunnelling mode and tell them I'll be back later. We've done this drill at least twice now with only 15 or so casualties!" he snapped before turning back to finish weaving his brilliant golden plait of kingly hair. Sabin pressed his face into his hands, sighing loudly through his fingers at his brother's cavalier attitude. As Setzer emerged in the doorway, Cid gestured frantically to the only spare seat so that he could begin the meeting. It was only when Ultros made himself visible that the other Returners were set on their haunches, growling like blood-thirsty alley-cats.

"Who invited that purple stupid-head?" Relm complained, pointing at the weeping octopus.

"Come on guys, he's alright," Setzer attempted to pacify his comrades. He tilted back his chair casually and jerked a thumb in Ultros' direction. "Look at the poor kid; he's hit rock bottom. It might be a bit of a gamble, the odds might look bad… but I'm backing him! Whaddya say?" The motivational speech had less than the desired effect, as the other Returners swiftly looked away from the pathetic, purple creature, obviously choosing the less confrontational course of action which involved pretending Ultros was invisible. Resigned to his fate, Ultros sat cross-tentacled on the ship's floor.

"So, this meeting is to establish who is willing to risk their lives to save the world once more!" Cid declared in a dramatic, resonant voice. "Your task is to restore the source of all life before everything is wiped out of existence forever. This means finding a way to bring Kefka back to life and have him return the large quantity of extra magic that he stole back to the Warring Triad. Then we can all live in peace. Who is willing to help?" In immediate protest, Cyan's chair scraped back noisily against the wooden planks.

"I apologise Sir Sydney. I cannot in good conscience help to resurrect the fiend who not only slaughtered my family but made _several_ crude jokes about it, right to my face. And also in a letter he sent to Zozo when I was seeking refuge there." The knight placed one hand on the hilt of his scimitar and raised the other in a traditional Doman salute to the rest of his comrades.

"Fare thee well friends," he announced, "it has been an honour to serve alongside you. I must now return to Doma and try to rebuild our own empire." With the flash of a black pony-tail, he had swept from the room. Locke's mouth twitched as though he wanted to smile. Terra aimed a swift kick at her friend's shin, mouthing at him to 'shut up.'

"Sorry," Locke whispered, the suppressed laughter apparent in his voice, "but I read that last joke. It wasn't funny at all though." He grinned down foolishly at the floor.

"Are there any other objections to this course of action then?" Cid tried again, looking around at the Returners hopefully. Locke snorted loudly and received a second kick from Terra, whose expression was now stretching the word 'livid' to breaking point.

"Sorry, sorry," Locke said in a mature voice, having fought and defeated his desire to laugh for the time being. He took a long, slow breath and turned his head away from the rest of the group. "Heh heh heh… _Why did the Doman population crap themselves when the Empire arrived at their doorstep?_ No, it's really not that funny…"

Cid looked around helplessly at the rest of the crowd gathered before him. "So if there are no other objections-"

"I object!" snarled Strago. The old man rose unsteadily to his feet, his spine giving out a sickening _crack_ as he stood to his full height. "For the love of tonberries, it's my retirement party! I was looking forward to saying goodbye to all you kids and then settling down in Thamasa for good. I'm too old to be running here, fighting that…" Setzer and Edgar shared an uncomfortable glance.

"What retirement party are you talking about, Strago?" Edgar managed at last, in what he hoped was a delicate tone. Strago muttered something incomprehensible but obviously hostile under his husky breath.

"Oh, Edgar's just being weird," Setzer interrupted quickly, "you know how humour in Figaro is weird? Anyway, of course it's your party, Strago! Who else would the present and cake be for?" Edgar shook his head slowly, his mouth opening and closing like a stunned goldfish's.

"Come on, gramps," Relm sighed, taking her grandfather by one of his puffy-sleeved arms, "these losers aren't worth it. Let's haul a cargo ship back to Thamasa and you can finish telling me that awesome story about the train robbers." And just like that, the party of ten had dwindled down to a mere group of seven. Cid's hand found the collar to his yellow radiation suit and began to tug it away from his purple neck, spluttering incomprehensibly until some trace of oxygen entered his desperate lungs.

"P-please… assure me that no one else objects to this p-plan…" he stammered, his nervous eyes darting from face-to-face. Again, Sabin leaned in to whisper something to Edgar. Edgar attempted to wave his twin away with the back of his hand, but accidently caught Sabin on the chin with a _smack_.

"Sorry little bro!" he cried, ruffling Sabin's blonde head of hair hastily, "didn't mean to get you there. Just cool it about Figaro, okay? We'll both go back to check it's still in one piece later." Sabin glared at his twin, rubbing the red mark that Edgar had left on his face. With only the sense of inner peace that a true monk could achieve, he nodded. Taking this final interaction as a cue to send out his remaining troops, Cid dropped his hands to his sides, relaxing into a long, slow sigh of relief.

"So, you seven are the ones chosen to-"

Suddenly there came an explosion of green from under the boardroom table as a wild-haired boy scampering on all fours flew through the door and clanked noisily down the metal gangway outside.

"GAU GROW STRONGER ON THE VELDT!" he yowled as he vanished into the frost-covered fields.

"So, you six are the ones chosen to revive the source of all life," Cid continued in a flat voice, refusing to give anyone else the opportunity to interrupt or escape. Ultros tried to catch the professor's eye and wiggled his purple tentacles eagerly.

"Yes, you six will need to go on a perilous journey to retrieve Kefka's soul, in a place no living man has ever gone to before..." Cid turned to face the wall, timing a dramatic pause in order to build the tension in the room. After counting thirty seconds, he whirled around to face Celes, Edgar, Sabin, Terra, Locke and Setzer, all of whom were silently regretting not making their excuses to leave sometime earlier. Ultros, however, was apparently caught on the professor's every word.

"You brave six… must journey to the afterlife!" Cid gasped, wiggling his fingers to add a theatrical effect. Sabin gave a great yawn and scratched the back of his head absent-mindedly.

"That's fine. We'll take the train."


	3. The Phantom Train

**LIKE A SILVER** knife slicing through butter, The Falcon cleaved through heaped clouds and tore sharply upwards into the pale morning sky. Beneath them, forests, mountains, rivers and lakes wove into a clumsy patchwork of green, brown and blue. Standing at the helm, one arm casually manoeuvring the craft's joystick, the other clutching a bronze telescope to his left eye, Setzer Gabbiani scanned the colourful landscape for signs of a forest so ghostly, it would probably take a medium to locate it on a map. Beside him stood Celes who, although not a mystical psychic herself, was doing an expert job of navigating the ship towards the Phantom Forest nonetheless. Her eyes scanned across the battered, old map in her hands as she called out coordinates in such an authoritative tone that Setzer felt compelled to pretend he understood her commands. He gave a convincing nod at a particularly long string of numbers that the young general had relayed to him, before comfortably returning to what he knew best; flying really fast.

"What are you doing?! I said we should begin our descent!" Celes screamed over the roaring wind, her hair whipping wildly around her face as she brandished the map at him aggressively. Setzer gave her a pained glance and buried his chin deep into the collar of his grubby overcoat, partly to embrace the little warmth and protection this offered, but mostly to obscure his crude reply.

"We're preparing to land!" Celes ordered as she marched down the staircase that led below deck. She found the others still seated around the scrubbed, wooden table in the Board Room, deep in discussion over how they would be able to resurrect the body of Kefka; a man who had been so spectacularly vaporised that his 'remains' had simply fluttered down to the earth like a million tiny fireflies.

"…then I have no idea… unless we use a phoenix down?" Edgar suggested tiredly, running a hand through the tufts of blonde hair that had escaped from his plait. Cid had taken it upon himself to ink a complicated series of diagrams across the wall of the aircraft. As far as Celes could infer, the child-like, stick-figure drawing of a man with a feather sticking out of its head was Kefka, while the twenty or so arrows, accompanied by algebraic numbers and symbols, held no significance whatsoever other than the purpose of looking vaguely scientific. Cid paused in the middle of an intimidating-looking equation, turning to the young king with a look of scorn spreading across his already ruddy face.

"Forget the fact that I'm a world-renowned scientist – _no_ – the answer's as simple as a blasted _phoenix down!_" he snapped, almost breaking his quill in two. Breathing hard through his nose and muttering incoherently to himself, Cid turned back to his board. "Stupid boy…" Completely straight-faced and with flawless timing, Edgar promptly swung his hand around and clipped Sabin sharply on the back of his head.

"_Sabin_. Stop suggesting stupid ideas while the professor's trying to work!"

As Sabin rubbed the back of his head irritably, Locke twisted his hands uncomfortably on his lap. He could feel tiny beads of perspiration inching their way across his forehead. His eyes fell on Celes who was standing by the wall, hands on hips, intensely trying to extract some meaning from Cid's various scribbles. He felt his stomach tremble and then leap into his ribcage for cover (Locke was quite sure this had little to do with the fact that The Falcon had just dipped to the left as it was beginning to descend towards the ground). However, airsickness was his ready-made excuse. With that, Locke slowly lifted himself from his chair and stumbled to his feet with the grace of Cyan piloting a suit of Magitek armour.

"I'm going to get some air…" he murmured vaguely, before wandering up the stairs to the upper deck. Terra watched him leave curiously and, without giving an excuse of her own, got up from her seat to follow.

"What's the matter with you?" she asked as she reached the railings that Locke was leaning over in order to brood effectively. Her treasure-hunting friend looked up at her miserably, his resolve to keep _The Terrible Secret_ already crumbling. He opened his mouth momentarily, then thinking better of it, diverted to a different path of conversation.

"I'm sick."

"No you're not," Terra retorted, "you're not making that Goddess-awful noise you usually do when you're about to… you know…" Her violet eyes bore into his deep-brown ones, probing for any giveaway signs of the truth that Locke was doing an amateurish job of concealing. It didn't take much for him to cave in completely.

"Please, _please_ don't tell Celes what I'm about to tell you," he hissed, taking Terra by one gloved arm and drawing her closer to him. She nodded dumbly as Locke shot glances in both directions, in case General Chere had decided to come up and order them both back downstairs. The Falcon pulled itself out of its slant for a brief moment, before it began to sink towards the right as it continued its descent. Locke thrust a hand into his pocket and dug out a dark-jade, eight-sided stone with a bright red ruby encrusted in its centre. Terra's mouth fell open in astonishment. She picked up the item and turned it over in her hand, once, twice, three times. Terra could feel it warm and pulsing on her palm and yet, she still could not quite believe…

"…it's Magicite!" she breathed. Locke nodded.

"It's _phoenix_," Locke whispered, "you know, the esper I was going to use to bring back Rachel?"

"I remember," Terra replied, still staring at the stone in her hand. She frowned back at Locke. "Wait a minute – I thought you already used this power?"

"I used just enough so I could talk with her a bit," Locke explained, "and even then Celes really wasn't happy." He sighed and took back the magicite, pocketing it once more. "Oh Terra, I don't know what to do! I couldn't believe my luck when this stone didn't explode with all the others after we beat Kefka. I thought I could hang on to it, you know, in case-"

"In case you decided to give things with Rachel another shot?" Terra rounded on him, her green hair flying wildly, "Locke! You can't keep a hold over both women - it's not fair!" Locke widened his eyes disbelievingly. The irony of receiving a lecture about his love life from a young women who still had little concept of the notion was not lost on him at all… although he was not quite creative enough to articulate this tactfully.

"Okay, I really don't see why I should discuss _that_ with _you_," he snapped, leaving a deeply-offended Terra to fold her arms and scuff the toe of one red boot moodily against the side of the aircraft. Locke felt a swift pang of guilt wrench his insides (or that might have been the fault of The Falcon as it once again leaned over to the left) and hastily added; "I, uh, I mean… I'm more worried about using the stone to bring back Kefka! Do you think it's the right thing to do?"

Looking out over the ship's rails to where perfect squares of green fields and tiny clusters of dark forests were swiftly heading towards them, Terra let her arms fall to her sides. "I normally rely on other people to make decisions for me." She removed a pale, pink ribbon from the small, beaded bag slung around her waist and, scooping a handful of tousled, peppermint hair, tied this up securely with a large bow. Terra turned and fixed Locke with a hard stare. "But if you're asking me… I say that you don't have a choice." It wasn't the answer Locke had wanted, but he knew it was the right one.

"ABOUT TO LAND-" came Setzer's voice, carried from the helm across the winds. A few more incoherent phrases followed this but the one discernible word that rung in everyone's ears was "BRACE."

The Falcon bounded into an empty field with two successive _thuds_ before it continued to roll forward, steam gushing from its sides as though it had been mortally-wounded. Setzer turned the craft around and left it to drift as the pumps, levers and canisters slowed their frantic whirring. Eventually, the metallic beast crawled to a halt and lay hissing exhaustedly under the afternoon sun.

"Good girl," Setzer whispered proudly, stroking the aircraft's dashboard. He hauled a switch to release the metal gangway into the grass below. When Locke and Terra motioned for him to join them downstairs, Setzer merely shrugged and took out his pipe to sprinkle in some tobacco

"I'll stay with the ship," he slurred, holding the pipe between his teeth as he waved them away dismissively. It was Setzer's trademark, go-to excuse to avoid being roped into "traipsing around a cave for hours" as he saw it. Downstairs, the remainder of the crew had assembled themselves around the craft's exit hatch. Celes already had one foot on the gangplank, poised to lead the party on their next quest.

"When we get there, we'll need a party of three to search the Phantom Forest for the Phantom Train-" She paused, patiently gesturing towards Edgar who had raised his hand.

"Question: why are only three of us going into the forest?" he asked, his pale eyebrows raised in mystery. Celes cleared her throat importantly.

"Standard Imperial Combatting Laws state that the maximum number of troops permitted to engage in close-quarters combat is four. It is foolishly dangerous to either exceed or diminish this figure," she reeled off perfectly, as though reciting from a combatant's text-book. Edgar's hand remained in the air.

"So, why are we only taking _three_ troops? And since when have we, La Resistance, ever kept to the Empire's laws?"

"Firstly because you're bringing Kefka back with you, which will make four," Celes explained, holding up four fingers clearly for Edgar to count, "and secondly, unless you want a blood bath on your hands, you'll stick to the rules. I've seen what happens when people don't. Too many commands leads to confusion and the next thing you know, you've lost your eyebrows… on the eve of the Imperial Palace Ball…" She rubbed her own forehead, staring off into the distance wistfully.

"Um..." Terra interrupted. The others turned their heads as Terra rudely shoved Locke into the middle of the circle. He swung around, momentarily confused, before realising that for once in his adventurer's career, he was _the man with the plan._

"Oh right," he managed not-so-confidently, "I'd like to go along on this mission because… I know a thing or two about reviving dead people." Locke froze up, mentally-kicking himself for the mere mention of Rachel. Celes saw the colour creeping into his cheeks, but decided now was not the time to comment on it.

"Okay. That makes two – can I have a third?"

Ultros threw four of his tentacles into the air in an attempt to catch the young general's attention. Celes tried her best to stare determinedly over the octopus' head. Fortunately, Sabin was the next to stroll forward.

"I volunteer because _I_ rode the Phantom train, ate a gourmet meal on it, met a few ghost friends on it, and then I flipped it like a cheese omelette." He grinned boyishly and high-fived Locke's raised hand.

"That sounded _awesome_."

Celes closed her eyes and silently prayed for strength. In a world where the mute spell no longer existed, how would she possibly survive the long, perilous journey to the afterlife with these two clowns? (And that was even before a third, professional jester had joined them). _Perhaps Ultros was preferable to a load of chauvinistic bragging…_

"Fine," she agreed heavily. Ultros hung his head sadly, his many flailing arms falling to the ground with a _plop_.

Before the party set off, Celes reminded the stay-behinds of the usual strategy; if they did not hear from the adventurers by nightfall, they were to send out a reserve line to search for them. It took a further half an hour for Celes, Sabin and Locke to select and dust off their armour plates, sharpen their weapons, and don their fighting gloves. They had just finished arguing over and then dividing up the most powerful relics when Celes looked about herself, feeling an odd sense of loss.

"What else do we need…?" she asked aloud, although mostly to herself. Locke clicked his fingers with the satisfaction of landing on the correct answer.

"Espers!" he announced proudly, "but we don't have to waste time with that anymore because they're extinct!" He clapped a hand over his mouth, just out of time, as Terra's eyes began to brim with tears. She dried them hastily with the back of her hand and walked away from the rest of the group, hugging herself to keep from shivering. Locke dared to glance at Celes who was shaking her head disbelievingly.

"You're an idiot."

~̃*~*~̃

With saddle-bags full to bursting with tonics, phoenix downs and antidotes, the party finally set off into the forest. Sabin picked up a small branch from the forest's leaf-strewn floor, using this as a makeshift staff to lead the walk along the uneven, winding pathway that curled and tailed off into darkness. Black, skeletal trees twisted from the earth into unnatural shapes. Their bare arms folded into a dark canopy which supressed the sun's rays; only permitting a few pale shafts to filter through where they dared. A grey, serpentine mist wound amongst the distorted silhouettes, almost completely obscuring a distant source of pulsing, unnatural light.

"It's coming from the across the spring!" Sabin called over his shoulder, "we have to head that way to get to the, uh, station." Celes marched behind him and, quite a few paces back, Locke was trailing along, wheezing. He stopped to slip off his bandana and wipe the sweat from his forehead with a gloved hand. Celes, sensing that his footsteps had ceased, swung around with her hand on the hilt of her sword.

"Is everything okay back there, Locke?" Locke hurriedly re-tied his bandana and sprinted to catch-up.

"It's… all… fine!" he panted, attempting to fall back into a regular step behind the others. The group slowed as they progressed down a fairly-steep hill which was damp with mud. Sabin pointed directly ahead of them to where a small body of water glittered eerily with phosphorous light.

"The spring's there and we have to go around to the right of it," he explained, before adding conversationally "you know, way back yesterday when there was magic, this used to be a _recovery_ spring?"

Celes made a mild sound of interest, which Sabin took as a sign to continue. "When I last passed through here, I believed that the strange glow of the water was caused by whatever healing properties it held. I never realised that this is a lavatory for Popliums and other local wildlife." From somewhere behind them came a sudden slosh of water, followed by a vile, retching sound.

"So the glow must have something to do with their waste-products," Sabin concluded thoughtfully, as he and Celes approached the clearing. Ahead of them lay a dark, damp patch of grass haunted by a cloud of tiny, swarming insects. With a thrill of dread, Sabin realised he had led the troops the wrong way. There was no station platform where he was expecting to see one; no bench to speak of; no polished post clock to inform them of the next train's arrival. Only a wooden sign had been driven into the ground. As Sabin stole closer, he could just about discern the faded lettering on the wood, which read: _Phantom Train: Please Alight Here For The Next Life._

Sabin took his bag off his shoulder and dumped it on the grass. "Budget cuts," he murmured to himself. It seemed unlikely as business had clearly been booming recently. Perhaps it was all due to the train carriages Sabin had destroyed on his last visit. As he silently dwelt on this, Celes settled on the grass next to him, swinging her pack to the ground. Several minutes later Locke appeared, wiping his mouth distastefully with the sleeve of his jacket. A faint look of disgust twisted his features as he ran his tongue across his lips. The three sat around cross-legged, waiting for the spectral train to roll into view.

"I'm sending a note to the others," Celes explained as she tore a piece of parchment from a roll in her bag. "I'll list the directions to the 'station' and inform them that we will send word when we arrive in the Afterlife." Completing her letter with a flourish, she then removed a small carrier pigeon (Sabin and Locke shared a look of astonishment… had the poor thing been rattling around in her bag the entire time?) attached the letter to its leg, and threw it into the air. The bird immediately crashed back to the earth. It twitched, then jumped to its unsteady feet, shook its tiny bird's head and took off beyond the contorted tree-tops. Locke turned away, snorting in silent laughter.

Celes continued to rummage through her bag. "Do either of you want an apple? Or a slice of bread?" Locke held out a hand to accept, but then pressed it to his mouth with a barely-repressed shudder.

"No thanks. I can't have anything near my mouth yet."

"Sabin, I have a question," Celes asked, jerking her head up suddenly, "there's no train tracks, so how do we know where its path leads through here? For all we know, we could be-" Whether it was to purposely prove her right or just timed to dramatic perfection, two fierce headlights flooded the scene. Sabin leapt to his feet, attempting to shield his eyes from the brilliant, blinding, white light. Ahead, he could see the faint outline of something dark and bulky shifting towards them. He opened his mouth to warn the others, but his strangled cry was lost in the unholy wail of the Phantom train's steam exhaust. There was no time.

Sabin threw himself into the bushes.

The Phantom Train screeched to a halt in almost the exact position as where the group had been sitting only seconds before. Tentatively, Sabin crawled out of the wiry, dead undergrowth that he had entangled himself in and stood before the heaving vessel. Locke and Celes were nowhere to be seen.

"Guys?" his voice escaped in a wisp of vapour that coiled away in the cold air. All around him men, women, and children emerged as suddenly as night had begun to fall. Their ghostly forms drifted through the surrounding tree trunks, over to where a growing queue was now boarding the train. Sabin shuddered as the spirit of a stooped, old man passed right through him, chilling him to the core. The sky was filled with the groaning of a thousand disembodied voices as the spectres amassed, encircling the Phantom Train and everything within its vicinity. Sabin, trembling from head to toe, took one terrified step backwards.

"G-guys…?"


	4. To The Afterlife

**A SHRILL, PIERCING** howl erupted from the Phantom Train's steam exhaust as the last few spirits boarded. Their pale, incandescent forms stole the last traces of light from the forest, leaving Sabin shivering in the midst of mysterious, dancing shadows. He forced himself to trudge towards the train and stood in front of the door to the first carriage, his gaze locked on the ground beneath the unearthly vehicle where the bodies of Celes and Locke lay trapped.

The whole thing was ludicrous. How could they both have been sitting around talking and then, a moment later, simply cease to exist? Sabin opened his mouth to call out to them, but found himself gaping dumbly at the body of the train. His thin voice cracked under the heavy laden of tears he was yet to shed.

"…I have to go," he managed quietly. Almost as a haunting reply, a breeze stirred the branches of the dying trees. Sabin hardly dared to question who he had spoken to. Even if Locke and Celes had been stolen beyond the reach of his words, Sabin alone needed to hear what must be still done. He would continue. It would not be in vain that they had…

Unable to even mentally process the word, Sabin mechanically lifted his head and stepped through the carriage door.

As soon as he was inside the carriage, the door flew closed of its own accord with a _clang_. The Phantom Train gave a dramatic shudder and, as one final, chilling wail from the steam exhaust rang through the night air, the vehicle began rocking precariously along on its destination to the Afterlife. Sabin's eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom. The peeling paint on the walls and the poorly-upholstered seats told him that little had changed since his last journey. Sabin half-felt his way through the dimly-lit carriage, only vaguely conscious of the miss-matched assortment of chests and trunks that lay strewn over the noisy carpet.

"Ouch!" he cried after accidentally kicking a large, oak box with a heavy padlock. With a ferocious growl, the whole chest shuddered violently back and forth, almost as if an angry cat were trapped inside. Wincing, Sabin lifted his foot to check to if his toenail had survived the collision, before limping on.

He became loosely aware that his feet were carrying him towards First Class as he stumbled through each compartment. In his hobbling, Sabin bowed his head respectfully at the spirits who had settled in for the ride. None of the spectres resembled _anyone_ that Sabin had known in life... let alone Locke or Celes…

Pushing open a grubby, wooden door with a faded, gold plaque which read '_First Class Ticket Holders Only,_' Sabin's dull gaze fell on a ghost who was blocking the aisle with a dining cart. The spirit was serving a selection of plates covered with shining, silver cloches. As Sabin stepped closer, a heavenly aroma invaded his nostrils, torturing him with hints of lamb cooked in red wine with sprigs of wild rosemary. Then, as the ghost straightened and began pushing his cart away, Sabin saw them.

"Locke! Celes!" he cried in disbelief. The pair were not only unmistakably _alive_ but seemed quite content as they sat in the flickering candlelight, enjoying a gourmet supper for two. Bewildered, Sabin hopped over to them and sank into the chair next to Locke's.

"Sabin!" Celes jumped in surprise, her fork poised midway towards her mouth, "what happened to you? As soon as we boarded the train we realised we'd lost you! I suggested that we walk towards First Class and then there was this most amazing smell and… you really _ought_ to try this lamb, you know." Locke nodded along earnestly, traces of gravy smudged at the corners of his mouth.

Sabin looked resentfully from one to the other, secretly retracting the tender thoughts of his friends' premature deaths that had pained him earlier. Their confused expressions only served to flare his temper even more intensely. Without so much as a word, Sabin's hand seized a piece of lamb from Locke's plate and popped it into his mouth.

"Boy, that _is_ good."

The Phantom Train rattled away into the night. Occasionally the doors to the compartment creaked open and then swung shut unexpectedly. Ghosts drifted here and there, most likely on their way to another carriage. Regardless, they showed little interest in the party of three who had finished their meals and were now slouched back in the train's tired, old seats. An uncontrollable wave of curiosity beckoning him, Locke awkwardly climbed over Sabin to investigate some of the abandoned chests that had been left in the carriage. Celes' mouth pursed into thin, straight line as she considered rebuking him for touching other peoples' belongings, but found she was suddenly too exhausted to do so. Empty-handed, the treasure-enthusiast returned and collapsed in the chair next to Sabin's. A heavy silence settled, only broken by the train's repetitive clatter against the tracks and the soft pattering of rain as it drummed against its greasy windows.

~̃*~*~̃

After what seemed an entire day, the Phantom Train began to slow its clanking. Sabin dragged himself up into a sitting position from where he had sprawled over into Locke's lap, rubbing his eyes with his fists. His instincts were proven right when the train's steam exhaust let out a long, piercing wail and its brakes screamed to a halt; clashing together in an ear-shattering discord. Celes, Locke and Sabin leapt together, tensed in the half-lit gloom of the carriage and feeling dazed as to how long exactly they had been asleep. Locke tentatively pressed his face to one of the smeared windows.

"W-we're here!"

The doors of the Phantom Train threw themselves open, bathing the carriage interior in a pale, ethereal light. Celes took one brave step forward and, turning to see her male companions shrinking behind her, made a noise of exasperation before marching outside.

The Afterlife was a dull affair. Celes, Locke and Sabin huddled together on the platform edge, momentarily stunned as a river of ghosts flowed from the train's heaving sides and drifted off into the smudged, grey void. The world around them looked like a half-finished sketch of a settlement that had been struck by a long-forgotten tragedy. A cobbled, stone path meandered off through the hazy rows of rooftops which stood before an ash-coloured horizon. Celes' eyes followed the track, which climbed up a steep mountainside and came to a halt at a dark, towering structure.

"Let's look around down here first, then head up to that point," she suggested, pointing out the tower to Sabin and Locke; neither of whom were looking in her direction.

"_How_ many times did they bite you before you died?" Sabin was gawping at the ghost of a man who could count the number of limbs he possessed on two fingers. Despite having to spend eternity hopping his way around, the man's ghost seemed rather cheerful.

"About forty-six times I believe it was," he answered thoughtfully. Sabin's mouth hung open in a mixture of shock and awe. Locke too was feigning a look of deep surprise as he silently withdrew a revivify from the pocket of the ghost's robes and slipped it into his bag.

"So what made you dive into piranha-infested waters in the first place?" Sabin pressed the man incredulously. From somewhere behind the two of them, Celes stamped her foot impatiently.

"If you two are so intent on questioning every ghost you meet, you may as well ask them about Kefka!" she hissed. Locke recoiled as though Celes had brandished a whip at him. The man's ghost chuckled and gave a lop-sided shrug.

"Go and ask at the castle," he advised, gesturing his one remaining, transparent hand towards the tall, black building that had caught Celes' attention just moments earlier. Locke folded his arms victoriously.

"See, Celes? And this is from the first guy we asked!" He fixed her with a satisfied smile. "Beats spending hours traipsing around a town while people ignore us and ramble on about their own stupid problems!"

Without even acknowledging his words, Celes grabbed Locke and Sabin each by an arm and steered them onto the stone path to begin their climb.

The three walked past crumbling cottages and slanted shops, all of which blurred into a tangle of colourless streets and alleyways. Signs hung still in the airless gloom so that the names on the shop fronts could be read clearly: _Knock 'Em Dead! Weapons_, _Rest In Peace Inn_, the '_What Doesn't Kill You…'_ _Apothecary_. Soon the buildings became more sparsely strewn and the party felt their march becoming more laboured as the uneven ground at their feet pulled sharply upwards. Once again Locke fell back a few paces, wheezing helplessly as his comrades climbed on ahead. Eventually, the three arrived at the great doors of a black-walled castle.

Sabin felt strangely reminded of Figaro, what with the chocobo-backed guards standing to attention at either side of the giant, curved doors (except in this case the guards were actually ghosts of Imperial soldiers sitting on chocobo skeletons). He was stirred from his thoughts rather abruptly as Celes purposefully cleared her throat. It was the kind of cough that would have ordinarily silenced a room, but neither of the chocobo-borne ghosts seemed even remotely phased by her gruff announcement. Regardless, the General pressed on.

"We're looking for a man-" she hesitated, for want of a better word, "a- a _ghost_ named Kefka? Is he here?" An uncomfortable silence extended between the two parties. The sentinels simply stared wordlessly at the newcomers. Celes felt the chocobos' empty eye-sockets boring into her own. At long last, the guard on the left set down his spear with a _thud_.

"You must report to the King!" he commanded throatily. His companion brandished his spear at the three Returners (in rather a more brutal way than was necessary) and then swung it towards the huge, black doors. Locke, assessing that he would fare quite well if pitched against a permeable being such as a ghost, strode forward confidently.

"Listen, we're here to find someone called Kefka. We don't have time to stop and chat with the King!" he argued, one hand already reaching for the dagger slung in its sheath, around his waist. The guards exchanged a look of grim resolution, before the right guard cracked a smug half-smile. He leant down from his chocobo and whispered in Locke's ear, so that only he could hear him.

"His Royal Majesty, the King, couldn't give a toss what you've got time for, sunshine."

Locke glared back at him steadfastly, but fearing he may have under-estimated the ghost, took a step back and fell in beside Celes and Sabin once more. Clearing enjoying themselves, the guards shared another meaningful glance. The left sentinel drummed his spear on the ground again.

"G-E-N-E-R-A-L! We've got a band of trouble-makers here!" he bellowed.

There came the sounds of activity from just within the castle walls and a clatter as numerous bolts and locks slid open. The gigantic castle doors creaked slowly open to reveal an extravagant courtyard, bustling with ghost servants and squires. There were more guards inside the castle grounds and one in particular who was standing there ready to greet them. His hair was as short and bristled as it had been in life, except now it shone silver, rather than light blond. The General was adorned in his Imperial uniform and cape, although these too were now as drab and grey as his hair. Even the tanned hue of his complexion had been lost in death; instead his pale, waxy skin was stretched over hollow cheekbones. Sabin silently reasoned that tilting his head to the side and half-closing his eyes almost gave the impression that the General was still alive. That was, if one could ignore the appalling, black stains that still oozed from the fatal stab wound in his abdomen.

"General Leo!" cried Celes in surprise, her face breaking into the first true smile she had managed since crushing Ultros' hopes of attending their trip. Leo raised his pale eyebrows in pleasant surprise as he faced his former comrade. The two Generals fell into old habits almost immediately as they performed the Imperial salute in perfect unison.

"So, what campaign brings General Chere and her troops to the afterlife?" Leo asked warmly, moving forward to shake Sabin's hand. Embarrassed that he was groping at thin air, Sabin's mouth twitched into a half-grin; half-grimace. Luckily Leo didn't show that he had noticed. After they had dropped hands, Sabin flexed his fingers. His flesh burned as though it had been frost-bitten. Locke took a swift step backwards so he was out of range of Leo's hospitality.

"We're actually here to see Kefka," Celes explained tentatively, hoping that now they were both dead, bringing up the name of Leo's murderer wouldn't be such a tender topic, "could you take us to him, please?" She was secretly amazed at Leo's reaction who, for any passer-by would have known, could have been accepting an invitation to embark on a luxury cruise around the Southern Continent.

"Of course!" Leo replied enthusiastically, "first and foremost, our majesty, the King, insists on meeting all newcomers… if you'd care to follow me?" He smiled broadly at them and waved at them to follow him; a gesture which would have seemed much more inviting, if not for the billowing of his horrifically blood-stained robes. Celes strode with him, leaving Locke to scowl beside Sabin as they entered the castle.

"So, when Kefka arrived here…" Celes felt her voice trail off as the group entered a magnificent, dome-ceilinged foyer. Two gigantic, gothic staircases ran around the length of the room, climbing to the chambers above them. A thick, black carpet trailed from the arched doorway, rolled across the polished marble floors and laid the way to the rooms at the back of the castle. Ahead of them stood two towering, marble columns, bearing the weight of the curved ceiling. Up here hung a colossal chandelier, bejewelled with thousands of tiny candles. All around them, flickering shadows leapt and hid between the tapestries which lined the walls. Glad to see that she was impressed, Leo gestured widely around the lavish space.

"I know," he acknowledged, catching Celes' eye, "it took my breath away a little too… well it would have, if I still had some."

"If he lays on any more cheese, my cholesterol will shoot through the roof," Locke muttered darkly. It bothered him more that Celes' laugh sounded slightly too genuine to be classed as a polite reaction. Then, noting the sustained eye-contact, Locke decided on a strategic interruption.

"I thought we were meant to be finding Kefka, not having a guided tour of some haunted castle!" he complained. As Terra was absent from the vicinity, somewhere at the back of his mind, Locke's sense of empathy protested and gave him a swift mental kick in her place. Again, he was just out of time. Leo was staring pointedly at him, while a faint frown-line was visible on Celes' pale brow.

"Did I… uh… say 'haunted'?" Locke laughed awkwardly, his hand jumping to the back of his head. His anxiety was quickly replaced with frustration as Leo broke into a grin and began chuckling carelessly at Locke's words.

"You did and technically the castle is, my friend." Leo turned and pointed to a room that lay ahead of them. "The King is waiting for you, so we must first go to him before we venture anywhere else." He led the Returners along a candle-lit corridor, quite oblivious to the murderous stare Locke was now fixing him with. Concerned for his friend's sanity, Sabin extended a broad arm to slow Locke's furious pacing and separate them both from the chatter of the two generals up ahead.

"What's with you?" he mouthed, nodding towards General Leo, "you can't surely be jealous of him?" Locke scowled more loudly than ever.

"You don't understand…" Locke sighed. He frowned to himself, considering how best to relay the story to Sabin…

~̃*~*~̃

One year ago, the voyage from Nikeah to Crescent Island had been both a physically and emotionally-rocky business. Locke had spent the majority of the journey face-down on the ship's deck, groaning as the vessel heaved under each swelling, tidal wave. Hours passed and, one by one, the soldiers, Leo, Celes, Terra and Shadow had disappeared into the hold for the evening. Alone and helpless, Locke rolled onto his side with his arms wrapped feebly around his shivering form, urging the sun to rise and break through the black clouds. Lying in the darkness, Locke reflected on his earlier apology to Celes for not immediately jumping to her defence when Kefka had implied she was an Imperial spy. In the Magitek Factory, he had done quite well not to overreact (and he only recalled using the word "deceived" once). Alas, the damage had already been done.

As a sickly-pale dawn broke across the horizon, Locke found he had lost count of the hours spent dully gazing at the gnarled wooden planks beneath him. His trance was only broken when his eyes landed on Leo and Celes, sitting down, huddled together only a few feet away from him.

Locke raised his head limply, straining to overhear what the generals' private conversation could possibly be about. In a whirl of soft, golden hair, Celes lifted her face heavenwards with such an injured expression that Locke felt momentarily seized by a compulsion to roll himself over-board out of gut-wrenching guilt. Instead, he simply stared as Leo bowed his head close to Celes' to offer a few tender words of comfort. With that, Locke felt a pang of seething fury scorch his insides. What _was_ it that everyone loved about that blockhead?

Celes, smiling meekly, appeared to thank Leo for whatever grains of wisdom he had shared with her, before disappearing below deck once more. Locke gripped the ship's railings to pull himself up into a sitting position, just as Leo decided to approach him.

"You've had a rough night, I'm sure," the General mused sympathetically. He knelt down beside Locke and, searching in the pocket of his robes, produced a handful of spongy, green weeds which Locke scrutinised distastefully.

"Gysahl greens," Leo explained kindly, "I know they're chocobo food and they don't taste particularly good but they have been proven to counter-act the symptoms of sea-sickness." Locke, unsmiling, snatched the greens from the general's out-stretched hand. With a brief nod, Leo rose once more, leaving Locke to glare after him.

"What a know-it-all…" Locke muttered bitterly to himself, "boy, I'd like to see _someone_ knock that goody-two shoes off his pedestal. Goddess knows he's asking for it." He bit down and tore off the end of a gysahl green with a relish. The calming effect on his grumbling insides was instantaneous.

Back in the present, Locke merely shrugged at Sabin.

"…it might just be me, but I think he's a smug bastard."


	5. You Really Didn't See It Coming?

**LEO, CELES, LOCKE** and Sabin continued their walk down the castle's main corridor. The candlelight from the great chandelier threw their outstretched shadows across the dark walls ahead of them. By this time Sabin (and predominantly Locke), had lapsed into stubborn silence, whilst Celes and Leo continued to reminisce about their Imperial days. The party passed some of the castle's staff who were floating to and from the throne room, carrying everything from ledgers and rolls of parchment, to swords and feather dusters. The ghost of a short, plump man was rolling along a giant wheel of cheese. Locke glanced over at a group of spirits who were huddled in one of the palace's shadowy stairwells. One of the ghosts, (apparently senior to the rest of the assembly), was hovering around and emphatically pointing out various tasks that needed completing. Upon the phantom's request, the group swiftly dispersed. Only one ghost was left to stand and scan through a list she had been left holding in her silvery hand.

She looked up. Although her large pupils were now a strange shade of midnight-black instead of the soft, brown gaze that had once melted into his own, Locke still felt the same old, familiar rush of heat flood his cheeks as their eyes met.

"Rachel?" he gravitated towards her as effortlessly as though the rest of the castle's floor had simply been chiselled away, only leaving the path that led to her. A wide smile broke across her face as he approached. Suddenly shy, Rachel brushed a strand of silver hair behind her ear, although her eyes betrayed a twinkle of expectation.

"I can't believe you're here…" Locke's voice escaped in barely a whisper. Instinctively, his arms reached to pull her into an embrace before he hesitated, remembering that Rachel no longer _had_ a body to embrace. Locke lowered his hands, then lifted one again to simply touch her cheek. Once again realising his mistake, Locke settled for simply patting her on the head. It felt much the same as plunging his hand in a bucket of icy water. He shuddered.

"…it's good to see you again Locke," she spoke softly, her pale face aglow in the candles' many flickering lights. "I thought you might have forgotten about me. It's been two years… I'd understand if you had moved on…" Despite her words, Rachel's tone had darkened considerably. Locke's eyes flicked over to where Celes was gesturing to Leo; describing Kefka's transformation into a winged, purple deity. He saw Leo's eyes widen.

"Wow. Just like the crayon drawings he used to do," the General replied in amazement.

Locke sighed, his hand reaching into the pocket of his jacket. The Phoenix magicite pulsed against his finger-tips; humming as though it was powered by an invisible electric current. He smiled back at Rachel.

"Who could ever forget about a girl as amazing as you?"

Transfixed, the lovelorn pair stood gazing at each other until Leo broke both the silence and the mood in one fail swoop.

"A friend of yours?" he asked, looking between them. Locke, who had completely lost himself in the moment, now turned to see Sabin, who was maintaining his usual air of pained tolerance and Celes who, quite frankly, was not.

"Rachel," she acknowledged coldly with the smallest inclination of her head. Rachel returned the gesture with a faint nod of her own.

"Celes – the Imperial General?" she questioned. Celes made a sound of affirmation that barely constituted as a word. Locke thrust both his hands into the pockets of his jacket, the heat now prickling his face uncomfortably. The uninvited silence rudely imposed itself on the scene once more. Finally, Leo clapped his hands together and the sound ricocheted off the corridor's ancient, stone walls.

"Shall we continue?"

Eager to end the bittersweet reunion, Celes turned on her heel and marched away haughtily. Locke stared after her, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably.

"I suppose we'd better get going…" he mumbled, his eyes falling on Rachel once more. "We have an appointment with the King and then we have to go and find someone. It's a long story, so maybe when… if… I come back…" Locke's voice trailed off. He had never been very good with farewells. Rachel's corpse, still lying embalmed on his grandfather's bed in Kohlingen, was a testament to that.

"Why don't I meet you back here afterwards?" Rachel tried keenly, "my lunch break is in an hour. Will you be done by then?"

Locke had to stop himself from questioning the notion that ghosts could even have lunch breaks. Or lunch for that matter. Instead he turned his thoughts to the tasks at hand; paying his respects to the King and then persuading _Kefka_ to come along quietly with them. In under an hour. He frowned thoughtfully.

"Um… what time do you finish for the day actually?"

Leo, Celes and Sabin were all gathered by the door to the King's chamber by the time Locke had jogged over to them. Even though Celes was pretending that Locke had been afflicted with a vanish spell, the reverent nod of Leo's head convinced him that he _was_ in fact, still a visible member of the party. The Imperial General turned and rapped his knuckles smartly against the tall, arch-shaped door.

"Your majesty? If it please you, you have visitors." When there came no sound in reply, Leo smiled awkwardly around at his companions, before opening the door by the smallest of fractions. "Excuse me a moment…" he told the others politely, closing the door lightly behind him. Locke rocked back and forth on his heels, whistling tunelessly, while the intensity of Celes' glare could have penetrated a hole in the wall behind him. Sabin glanced around the corridor nervously, trying to find something of architectural interest to help relieve the tension. If only Edgar had been recruited for the trip.

Leo re-emerged from the chamber, eyes over-bright and his smile looking more strained than usual.

"The King will see you now." As Celes, then Locke and Sabin strode through the doorway, Leo pushed the door closed behind them and sank against its wooden frame with an exhausted sigh.

"Goddess give us strength…" he breathed, closing his eyes in despair.

The King's chamber was lit by a pathway of black candles, all burning at uneven levels. Amongst these, hundreds of bouquets of white lilies had been placed, so that the air was filled with the sickly-sweet aroma of petals. Propped up against the walls sat an assortment of keepsakes: carved wooden crosses, dolls, figurines of angels, old books. Locke paused, momentarily tempted to pick up a tiny statue which looked suspiciously like the Virgin Mary (whoever that was) but hesitated in doing so. There was something unholy about the air in this place; it felt almost too heavy to breathe freely.

"It looks like a mass funeral in here," Sabin thought aloud as the three approached the end of the dimly-lit corridor. Ahead of them stood a huge, ornately-carved throne with a tall, curved back. A roaring fire crackled to the left-hand side, throwing the grand seat and its occupier into obscured darkness. Sabin couldn't help but ponder suspiciously whether this had all been arranged for dramatic effect. Even if he was right, the King had done an excellent job. Then, as the three neared the throne, the shadows retreated to reveal the King of the Afterlife.

The King lounged in his chair, one foot on the floor, the other slung over one of the throne's claw-like arm-rests. His legs were covered in mismatched boots; one black, one white. The rest of his small form was wrapped in a mass of flowing, patterned robes. Around his neck, he wore a black and white striped ruff. His clasped, white hands glowed eerily in the firelight, while the deep, black circles inked in around his eyes made him look positively demonic. The light danced off the King's silver hair, which was pulled back into a tight pony-tail and decorated with a solitary, black feather. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, Sabin felt the dreadful, sinking feeling that he had been right on the money all along.

"So…" Kefka sneered, his heavily made-up eyes fixing on each of them in turn, "come to pay your respects, have you?" As the King rose dramatically from his throne and glided towards them, Locke recoiled in horror and stumbled backwards over a strewn bouquet of lilies.

"Y-you?!" he spluttered. At a complete loss for words, Locke stared around wildly at his comrades, both of whom appeared entirely underwhelmed by such a revelation. Beside him, Celes gave an impatient sigh and took one bold step forward.

"You really didn't see it coming?" she muttered half to herself and half to Locke, who was still gazing, open-mouthed. "I mean it's _Kefka_. It wouldn't matter if he ended up on the moon or the bottom of the sea, he'd still usurp whoever was in charge." At this, Kefka's painted mouth twisted into devious grin.

"Just giving the people what they want," he remarked nonchalantly. He smiled vacantly at Celes for a moment and then, as quickly as the lightness of his expression had appeared, his face darkened.

"What do you want anyway?" Kefka snapped, his stare suddenly hostile, "wasn't killing me enough? Had to come down here to make sure I was truly done and dusted, did you?"

Celes glared back at him; her lips pressed into the faintest of lines. Behind her, Sabin nudged Locke who promptly clamped his mouth shut. Both were instantly reminded of the last altercation between the two generals. One year ago, Celes' refusal to butcher her comrades at Kefka's request had resulted in the latter shattering the world's continents into mere fragments, while the former had lapsed into a year-long coma from her injuries. Locke secretly reasoned that reaching for his dagger at a moment like this would hardly be considered an over-reaction.

"Or… …" Kefka dragged out the syllable, a playful tone creeping back into his voice as he leaned in closer to the three Returners, "…have you come back for round two? Oh no – _have_ you?" His dark eyes widened in surprise and he clapped his white hands to his face. Kefka's black nails clawed at his cheeks in the mock-panic of a host who had forgotten to set the table for tea. "Oh really, you shouldn't have… I haven't got everything ready yet!" Flummoxed, he snapped his head around so severely that the black feather in his hair quivered violently. Extending one thin arm into the air, Kefka gave a single click of his long, skeletal fingers and a dozen ghost servants were summoned in a puff of swirling dust particles. Sheepishly, they shuffled into a dis-jointed line before him.

"Biggs – I need my choir warmed up!" Kefka barked, alternating between pointing and clicking his fingers at the untimely-deceased Imperial recruit until Biggs ambled from the room uneasily. "Wedge – get the organ in here! No wait, the terrace has four levels doesn't it? Get it all set up out there!"

"Your grace…" Wedge ventured bravely, "the organ is too large to move-" Although both men were no more than the disembodied sprits of their former selves, Wedge still instinctively flinched as Kefka's hand clipped the top of his penetrable head.

"Shuddap and do as I say!" Kefka raged, shaking his fist as a terrified Wedge fled whimpering from the chamber.

"That's enough!" Celes cut in furiously. One hand was placed adamantly on her hip, while the other groped the hilt of her sword, ready for resistance. "Kefka we're not here to fight. We…." She hesitated, considering the best method to reason with the madman before her; whose pupils had now reverted to dark, cat-like slits... "We…"

At that precise second, almost as though it were encased in a shining beacon of light, a 'eureka' moment illuminated Locke's mind. Now, the young treasure hunter knew that one traumatic 'acting' experience at the Jidoor Opera House had been enough to play him off the stage for the remainder of his life. However, today would be different. No amount of stage fright or obsessive purple octopi would spoil _this_ performance. He was a master of disguise after all. Decisively, Locke cleared his throat loudly and feigned a look of utter despair. His voice, heavy with emotion, caught tearfully in his throat before he could even utter his first word. Sabin and Celes whirled round to stare at him, dumbfounded. Snivelling, Locke feebly leaned against Sabin for support and allowed his head to drop into one shaking hand.

"Kefka… you were right…" he breathed between his fingers. Celes rolled her eyes and tightened the grip on her sword, exhaling a few choice words of her own. Unsure of whether to consolingly pat his friend on the head or simply push him away, Sabin tensed, waiting for the next scene of the drama to unfold. Locke slowly raised his head to show Kefka that his eyes were indeed swimming with tears (of course, he subtly concealed that pinching himself just under the armpit was helping to achieve such an effect).

"I'm always right," Kefka retorted with the air of one confirming an obvious and well-established fact. The King dropped his arms to his sides and waited for more. Lock froze up, momentarily fumbling for his next line.

"L-life… hope… dreams…" he managed to echo Kefka's dying words. _Did he say them in that order?_ Locke felt a bead of sweat escape from under his hair and roll down his neck. His hand brushed the back of his head hastily. Biggs, who had re-emerged with his amassed choir of fifty spirits, barely received a glance from Kefka, who swatted them away idly with his hand. Utterly engrossed in Locke's performance, the King of the Afterlife moved closer, as though to drink in more of this celebratory toast.

"They _are_ meaningless things," Locke continued, his voice now powerfully reverberating in the empty gloom of the King's chamber, "and after we defeated you – we suddenly realised that our lives _are_ meaningless! Our purpose in life was to oppose you and with you gone… we have nothing." Kefka was bobbing his head enthusiastically, sending his decorative feather wobbling. His hands briefly twitched as though he were tempted to applaud such beautiful words. Taking this as a sign of encouragement, Locke readied himself for the climactic finale and slid down onto his knees, howling.

"Please, Kefka! We _need_ you back in our lives!" He threw his arms up to the heavens and gave an ear-shattering wail. In the midst of his bawling, Locke dared a glance at the great, clown King and instantly noted that this last move had been one step too far. Kefka's captivation had evaporated, only to be replaced by an expression of mingled incredulity and irritation.

"You should've thought of that before you _killed_ me then, shouldn't you?" he spat, rounding on Locke, who shrank against the castle's cobbled paving stones. "I told you that all existence is pointless!" His black and white patterned robes curled and fluttered as Kefka raised his arms above his head. Behind him, Biggs hurriedly reassembled the shuffling choir of ghosts back into their places.

"Leo – bring me my flail."

Locke yelped and dropped his dagger as he attempted to scramble to his feet in time. Behind him, Celes already had her sword drawn and was warily advancing on the ghoulish megalomaniac. A deep glare impressed upon his features, Sabin hunched over into a crouch next to her, cracking the knuckles of his right hand. Never taking his gaze away from the three Returners, Kefka stood with one pale, out-stretched palm. Obediently, an expressionless General Leo strode forward and placed the handle of a heavy-looking, spiked ball-and-chain into his white hand.

In the distance, twelve haunting, tremulous notes piped from a great church organ, sending spirals of dust cascading from the domed ceiling. Kefka sprang forward, twirling his flail artistically between his nimble fingers.

"You wanna dance?" he jeered, flinging the weapon upwards so enthusiastically that it would have crushed his own skull, had he still possessed one. Seizing her chance, Celes leapt into the centre of the fray with the fluidity of a feline, and knocked the flail cleanly from Kefka's hand.

"Oh," he uttered shortly.

"STOP!" Celes bellowed over the choir, who had begun to chant a Latin verse to compliment the rhythm of the fighters' sparring. "I said that's _enough_!" When the last voice had died away meekly, Celes flung her sword to the floor with a clatter and closed in on Kefka, holding her fist firmly against where his throat should have been. She continued to press in so intimately that every stroke of black face paint around his terrified eyes was distinct. As Kefka sank to the castle's floor in submission, even the pattern of its cobbled flagstones was just about discernible through his translucent skin.

"I said _we're not here to fight_," Celes hissed between clenched teeth. Kefka made a ferocious but indistinct gargling sound in reply, speckling her arm with flecks of saliva.

"Eugh… you're a ghost, how can you even do that?" Celes muttered, wiping her forearm dry. She straightened and uncurled her fingers from around the small device in her hand. Locke and Sabin leant in to see a brass syringe, filled with glittering, scarlet particles and bearing a formidable-looking needle, clasped in the young general's grasp.

"A _phoenix_ _down_," Locke announced humourlessly. "Why didn't _I_ think of that?" Sabin smiled kindly at his friend, reluctant to reveal the answer to such a question.

"Either you accompany us back to the World of Balance… or…" Celes mimed plunging the syringe into Kefka's neck, "…it will be rest in _pieces_, rather than _peace_." Outraged, Kefka attempted to thrash and twist away from her, snarling viciously. Just beyond the struggling pair, a swarm of ghost servants had filed across the doorway and walls to the chamber. The thronging mass surged forward; eager spectators at the forced abdication of their king. One bold spirit even offered a faint cheer as he rejoiced in the proceedings.

"It's over Kefka," Sabin spoke in a low tone, kneeling next to where Celes was threatening the fiend. "One false move and you're toast. Now come along quietly." The spectral form of their arch-nemesis made one final snap at Celes' fingers, whined like a wounded animal, and then lay still.


	6. Return Is My Middle Name

**"I REALLY DO** _hate_ you, you know that?" Kefka spoke finally, glaring up at the arched ceiling overhead. "You stupid, worthless, jumped-up, arrogant-"

Celes, who was only half-paying attention to his nonsensical ramblings, shifted around to face Locke and Sabin.

"We need to get out of here," she mouthed, her voice barely audible over Kefka's continued stream of obscenities. "We can't exactly skip past the guards, with the _King_…" even as she whispered the word, Celes could not suppress the sarcasm in her voice "…as a hostage. Any ideas?" Locke, despite failing in his first two attempts to prove himself as a valuable asset to the party, privately decided that third time was indeed always the charm.

"Why don't we just get the train back?"

"Well, you know, it's a trans-existential mode of transport," Sabin explained. Locke blinked at the monk expressionlessly, before Sabin hastily added "it's the train version of the Grim Reaper… so return tickets aren't exactly an option."

"Well I'll _make_ them an option!" Locke announced boldly, raising and flexing his right arm in his well-rehearsed adventurer's stance. "Return is my middle name. Or it's the first part of our secret society's name, anyhow." Still pinned to the ground, Kefka tried to salvage what little saliva he had left to spit at the treasure-hunter's boots.

"Seriously, it's not an option, Locke. We'll have to think of something else," Sabin replied in a heavy voice. Secretly, he was still haunted by the close escape he had managed only two years ago…

~̃*~*~̃

Sabin could recall the livid expression on the former Phantom Train's face in excruciating detail. With headlights squinted into a piercing, white glare and its metal grill pulled down into a ferocious grimace; the fearsome locomotive had pursued Cyan, Sabin and Shadow down through the thick undergrowth of the Phantom Forest.

"THIS TRAIN TERMINATES HERE," its mechanical voice had thundered, ricocheting eerily off the forest's grey trees.

"You got that right!" Sabin had roared as he whirled around to confront the great, metallic monstrosity. "We're law-abiding passengers, you hear? I will not become prey to another money-sucking transport corporation!"

He couldn't remember much after that. The scene had dissolved into a blur of colour and there came a distant, muffled scream, as though it were contained inside a glass jar. For a brief moment Sabin felt weightless, before solid ground rushed to meet his feet once more. He stumbled over backwards; his head smacking against the forest's floor with a _thud_. Lights exploded in front of his eyes. Dazed, Sabin blinked upwards to see the toppled train carriages hanging suspended in the air several hundred feet above his head.

"Wherefore did you so?!" cried Cyan as the shadow of the great vessel blossomed over their cowering forms with increasing speed.

"I paid for returns, but apparently our tickets were _one-way only!_" Sabin howled up at the sky, which was rapidly becoming filled with train. Just in time, the three men hurled themselves out of the drop zone as the carriages plummeted to the earth with a sickening _crunch_.

~̃*~*~̃

Back in the present, Sabin's eyes were hanging open in a vacant expression. Locke had moodily withdrawn one of Kefka's ornamental figurines from his pocket and was polishing it with the sleeve of his jacket. Before Celes was able to snap the pair of them back to the task at hand, Leo strode out of the shadows. As the light caught his pale, waxy features, the General looked more worn and haggard than he had ever appeared before. A strained smile, which didn't quite reach his dull eyes, crept across his face as he spoke.

"You may not want to accept my advice, considering my loyalty to Kefka…" Leo's voice came croakily, "but if you examine that bookcase-"

"Then why _are_ you giving us advice?" Celes interrupted incredulously, her knuckles blanching as her grip on the phoenix down tightened. "You're working for Kefka. It's completely ridiculous! You _do_ remember him murdering you, right?" As Celes' arm shook in fury, Kefka had to tentatively inch himself away from the phoenix down's needlepoint, which was now grazing across his undead throat.

"It's not as simple as that…" Leo sighed miserably, wringing his hands. "You see, Kefka was right. I _was_ a traitor to him, and to Gestahl and the whole Empire. I fought against everything they were working for." He swept a hand in Kefka's direction, where the King was still writhing on the cobbled flagstones. "It could just as easily have been him standing where I am and me, a deranged king, lying on the floor where he is." Kefka paused to insistently shake his head at the absurdity of Leo's idea, before resuming his struggling.

Leo concluded his pacing and sank into the King's great, carved throne wearily, surveying the others through glazed eyes. "I believe he did me a favour by killing me, so that I would not have to live long enough to see myself become the enemy. Kefka alone was faithful to the Emperor's cause."

"Kefka used the Warring Triad's power to electrocute Gestahl and then he booted the Emperor's charred remains off the edge of The Floating Continent like a deflated football," Celes quipped fluidly, without missing a beat. "And, of course, he laughed."

As if to confirm Celes' version of events, Kefka could not quite suppress a chilling, soprano giggle at the memory. Leo whipped round to stare at his ghoulish ex-comrade; his mouth falling open in disbelief. Slowly, he shook his head from side-to-side, as though this would help him process the information he had just been handed. Leo made several incoherent sounds, as though he had forgotten how to form actual words. Then, finally, he spoke with slow and deliberate care.

"You told me that Gestahl died in his bed…"

"Yeah, the _sea bed_!" Kefka cackled, clearly pleased with his own brand of treachery. He quirked a pale eyebrow, his eyes drifting upwards as he remembered the Emperor's last moments. "Or before that… or whatever. He ended up on the sea bed." Leo pressed a pearly-white hand over his eyes, sighing in barely-contained rage.

"Kefka, you said that Gestahl's dying wish was to leave his throne to the son he never had. Then you honoured his memory by ruling for a year. You eventually decided to kill yourself because you couldn't accept all the hero-worshipping."

"What can I say?" Kefka mused, a twisted, black-lipped smile curling across his ashen face, "I was their _God_." Apparently forgetting that he had a phoenix down pressed to his throat, Kefka stretched himself out leisurely across the castle floor; one hand cradling his head, the other settled on his hip. "I'd end up sitting around all day smiting sinners, accepting sacrifices, a little more smiting for good measure…" He gave a theatrical yawn and scrutinised the nails of his left hand idly. "What a bore."

"Kefka! You're _insane_!" Leo exploded, his hands balled in fury. "I- I can't let you continue this madness!" Then, taking decisive action, the General faced the assembly of gathered spirits; slamming his fist against his palm noiselessly. "First battalion – assemble!" Along the back wall, the congregation of spirits were rudely shoved aside by the spears of Leo's Imperial guards as they fought their way over to their commander's side. As Leo commenced his complete overhaul of the Afterlife's system of government, Locke brushed Celes' shoulder with a gloved hand.

"Hey," he whispered, "should Sabin and I check out that bookcase that Leo was speaking about before?" Celes gave a resolute nod in reply.

"We need to get out him of here _now_," she urged quietly. Kefka's eyes flew between the three of them.

"I won't disagree. Anywhere's better than staring up this brat's nostrils," he remarked with mild disgust. Leo's voice carried over to them, resonating around the hollow chamber so powerfully that Kefka's army of ghost servants were compelled to stand to attention.

"King Kefka will abdicate his throne and rule the Afterlife no more. Instead, we shall organise a democratic election in order for the spirit population to vote in a party of their choice to rule the realm."

As Kefka lay choking on the word _democratic_, Locke and Sabin began pulling several thick volumes from various places on the bookcase's spindly shelves. Clouds of dust particles swarmed upwards, but exposed no exit strategies. Other than discovering the lunatic's secret enjoyment for Tzenian tragic drama and Locke suffering a mild asthma attack, the pair found their endeavours to be entirely fruitless. Neither the literature nor the piece of furniture itself seemed to offer any suggestions for escape routes.

"Having been found guilty of treason against Emperor Gestahl, the Gestahlian Empire and assuming totalitarian rule over the world," Leo continued, "Kefka Palazzo shall be executed."

The General's final words stunned the entire room into silence. Celes' mouth fell open in astonishment. _Execute Kefka?_ Her eyes locked on the phoenix down in her hand. _Was Leo expecting her to do it?_ In his surprise, Locke failed to notice that a particularly heavy book – _Sir Odin and the Behemoth_ – had slipped from his grasp and landed squarely onto Sabin's injured toe. The only sound to break the stillness, besides the string of curses Sabin breathed as he clutched his foot, was Kefka's derisive snort.

"You do realise I'm dead?" he asked with an expression of such genuine concern, that his question could have been taken half-seriously. "But by all means, if you insist…" Kefka waved his hand genially towards Leo and his soldiers, with the grace of a king permitting an ensemble of minstrels to begin entertaining the rest of the court. Seemingly in answer to his invitation, the Imperial guards began arming themselves. Celes bowed closer to Kefka, glaring at him reproachfully.

"That's a great idea, Kefka; just keep provoking Leo until he actually does wipe you clean from the plane of existence!" she hissed. Glancing over the ghost's head (all the while ignoring the grotesque face he was making at her), Celes spotted Locke and Sabin had given up in their search for inconspicuous-hidden-switches-disguised-as-novels and were now attempting to swivel the entire rickety bookcase away from the wall. A barked order from Leo to his men announced that, despite their best efforts, they were out of time.

"Celes." Leo was hovering before her, his translucent hand out-stretched for the phoenix down. Celes stared back determinedly at him, the rest of her body completely immobile. Locke couldn't help but smile with admiration at her ability to endure the muscular cramps that were undoubtedly racking her crouched form by now. As always, Celes daringly toed the line between stoicism and self-harm.

"I'm sorry but I just can't," Celes spoke finally, weighing each word as though it were formed from lead. "We need Kefka as he is." Leo's expression remained a mixture of steadfastness and polite confusion. His palm lay open before her, waiting expectantly.

"Why may I ask?"

Beside them came the clatter of tumbling books. Sabin's blonde head emerged over the top of the bookcase, which had been shifted to a haphazard angle. Consisting only of a few planks of wood nailed to two narrow beams, the whole stack of shelves was wobbling precariously.

"I said _slowly_," he growled at Locke. The treasure-hunter appeared from around the other side of the shelves and stooped to collect the fallen novels. Frowning, he straightened with a dusty, green paperback in his hand.

"_The Tales of Tonberry Tom_…?" he read aloud. Locke's eyes landed on the space where the book had previously sat then, with the thrill of excitement that accompanied his discovery of trap doors and treasure troves, Locke's fingers traced the raised brick that the novel had been hiding.

Celes watched Leo thoughtfully, as though she were mentally wading through a stream of information and deciding which netful of Cid's scientific jargon to dredge up for the General. Privately, she settled on scraping the surface of the issue for the time being.

"Kefka's body was filled with magic. We need to resurrect him and return his powers to help save the world," Celes explained briefly. She flinched in shock as Kefka uttered a sudden, guttural wail of despair. The ghost thrashed about and clutched his head, groaning as though it was about to explode.

"You want me to come with you and… _save the world_?!" he gasped, spluttering on the words as though they were too toxic to digest. Kefka stared up at Leo desperately. "Leo… please… I don't care how you do it... how quickly can you execute me?" His dark eyes widened imploringly as he locked his white hands together in dutiful prayer. Leaning on the trembling bookcase, Locke raised his eyebrows at Sabin and dropped his gaze to the shelf in front of him. With a sound of exasperation, Celes flung the phoenix down to the ground and sat back on her heels in resignation.

"Seriously, even the thought of getting your powers back doesn't seem tempting?" she snapped irritably. Oblivious to her words, Kefka lifted himself onto his silvery elbows. His eyes followed the exchanged whispers of Locke and Sabin, before trailing to the wall opposite the bookcase. Up here hung a large, oil-on-canvas portrait of himself. In the picture Kefka was standing, draped in even more layers of elaborate robes than was usual for him. His left hand held a dark jade stone encrusted with a blood-red ruby; his right clutched a desk globe. On closer inspection, one could count the countries that had been violently scrawled out with black ink on the globe's surface; an arch-villain's ultimate checklist. Kefka felt a foreign emotion grip him. _Was this what those pathetic people called… nostalgia?_

"Who cares about a little hocus pocus anyway?" Kefka retorted stubbornly, a sneer playing about his mouth, "I'm just old-fashioned like that. Nothing beats seeing the horror in a man's eye after you've run your sword through him." Hearing this, Leo made a quiet, mournful sound and turned away, scrutinising his stab-wound self-consciously.

"Well, I can't let you go," the General spoke curtly, still standing with his back to the four individuals. Sabin's eyes darted furtively to Celes' face. The young General, much experienced in the art of stealth, dipped her head by the smallest fraction. Taking note of the silent exchange, Kefka once again rolled his eyes dramatically over at his oil portrait.

"Well, I don't want to go anywhere with _these_ vermin." he complained, glaring at the Returners and folding his arms much like a petulant child. Kefka swept a hand dramatically at each of the surrounding men, women and spirits. "I'd rather be torn into one hundred million shreds! You know… just the way these twerps finished me off last time." Leo turned back to face the man, his blood-stained robes swirling about him.

"That can be arranged," the General uttered darkly, rolling up his sleeves. "Now we _were_ going to simply jab you with a phoenix down but, if you so desire, we can always drip feed you tonic after tonic agonisingly for hours until you eventually dissolve into ethereal mist." At this, Kefka's jaw slackened and swung loose; his pupils shrinking to black pin-points. A crazed smile flickered, then dimmed and finally lit up his features alarmingly.

"Oh goody…" Kefka tried sarcastically despite the fear that was etched into every feature of his face. "Let's begin then…" He lifted a pale hand, his fingers arranged so that three of his digits were raised. Beside him Celes braced herself, poised to leap into action. Behind the bookcase, Sabin was tensed like a coiled spring; Locke's fingertips stroked the gravelly surface of the raised flagstone. "Three…"

Leo's Imperial guards had formed a semi-circle around their commander, each bearing a small, glass bottle containing a clear, fizzy liquid. Odd letters from the scrawled label _Tonic_ were just legible through their transparent hands. The soldiers pressed closer, brandishing their weapons against the fiend who sat before them, his hand now swivelled so that his knuckles were facing them. With an obnoxious smirk, Kefka lowered his thumb and continued counting.

"Two…" He slowly entrapped his index finger and opened his mouth to utter the final number. Then, eyes sparkling with malice, Kefka jolted to his feet as though he had been shocked with electricity. He bolted blindly towards the wall opposite. With a gasp of recognition, Locke slammed his fist against the brick. A rasping sound reverberated through the chamber as a cluster of flagstones surrounding Kefka's portrait protruded one-by-one. The makeshift door stood embossed against the castle's grey bricks, then slowly scraped itself open to reveal a narrow passageway. In a flash, Kefka shot nimbly through the opening and vanished. Lacking the weightless grace of a ghost, the three Returners thudded heavily towards the door as it began to enfold itself within the wall once more.

"Get them!" Leo ordered. Amid the chaos of shouts, cries and the whistle of spears as they were launched through the air, Celes and Sabin tore forwards and hurled themselves into the secret corridor. A few paces back, Locke's feet pounded loudly against the castle's floor. Instinctively, he threw himself to the ground as a spear sailed over his head, parting his hair perfectly down the middle.

"Locke!" came Celes' anguished cry. She watched the adventurer drag himself up and continue panting towards the passage, which now stood open no more than a foot wide. Behind him, Leo led the charge of unrelenting spectres.

"Stop! You have no idea what you're doing trusting Kefka!" Leo roared at the Returners. His brow furrowed as he thought better of his words. "Well… actually you _should_ do by now." Ignoring the General, Locke sprinted ahead of them to where he could see Celes' arms were outstretched in an effort to keep the passageway from sealing itself too soon.

"Locke _come_ _on!_"

The treasure-hunter pushed himself through the rapidly-shrinking gap, grazing his bare forearms in the process. As his foot disappeared into the wall, the surrounding bricks sank back into their former places with a gravelly flourish. Leo came to a halt in front of the perfectly-smooth partition and swung a vicious, futile kick at it. Ghost-proof walls were rare, but certainly effective. The General's regiment gathered around him, looking expectantly to their leader for further instructions. Leo desperately hunted for some proactive words to offer his men, but the injustice of Kefka's escape was too much for him to bear.

"Bugger it," he seethed.

~̃*~*~̃

It was pitch black inside the passage. Locke warily raised his arms in front of him and took a step forward, right into Celes.

"Watch it!" she snapped, recoiling from Locke's touch as though his skin had seared her. The pair stood in strained silence, only interrupted by the ragged breathing of three people who had recently run for their lives. Celes swung an arm out to be sure that her estimations were accurate. A low grunt told her that her fist had connected with the side of Sabin's head. _So that made three… but where was Kefka?_

"Kefka…?" she tried tentatively. Her voice echoed away into nothingness. Sabin moved cautiously forward, trailing the rough walls of the tunnel with his palm.

"Everyone, keep together," he urged. His hand reached for Celes' and then Celes obliged by groping the darkness behind her for Locke's. It was reassuring to think they were in a dark tunnel, Locke considered, for his face was aglow with pleasure as he intertwined her fingers comfortably between his own. The three advanced carefully, led by Sabin, who blindly mapped out their route with his free hand. Eventually the party stepped down clumsily into a narrow chamber, marking the end of the passage. The small room housed a few odd chests and, most remarkably, in the far corner of the room lay a glowing sphere of white light, no larger than an apple. Sabin released Celes' hand and took a bold step towards it.

"It looks a little like a save point," Sabin considered, tilting his head to one side, "except it's white, not blue. Maybe it's a portal?" Celes wrinkled her nose disdainfully at the incandescent, shimmering mass.

"Well that's certainly convenient," she remarked coolly. Locke nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, it's almost as if whoever designed this tunnel was too lazy to finish the job and just shoved this light here to save themselves the bother," he cracked dryly. Celes offered a half-smile, more out of politeness than humour, before remembering that Locke was still needlessly grasping her hand in the well-lit room. She self-consciously relinquished her grip and let her own hand fall to her side.

At that precise moment, Kefka's ghostly form emerged from the dark tunnel, pranced across the chamber and merged into the glowing, white orb. Sabin, Celes and Locke all spluttered incoherent sounds of exclamation.

"He was behind us?!" Locke managed in outrage.

"Who cares about that!" Celes shouted back, "after him!" The three grabbed onto each other's' forearms and leapt boldly into the portal.

Back in the fields surrounding the Phantom Forest, a stray cat was sitting, licking itself intimately. The sun was sinking behind the mountains to the west, wrapping banners of red and purple across the horizon. Silhouetted against the vibrant sky, the withered trees gave a collective shiver. Somewhere in the distance, a raven heaved a throaty _squawk_. It was quite unexpected when an explosion of blinding, white light illuminated the scene, casting dazzling rays against the forest's pale tree trunks. First a spirit materialised and sank through the air, draping itself over the grass like a pile of silver blankets. A few seconds later, three bodies appeared and slammed into the grass in a tangled heap. The brightness retreated into the shadows; leaving one last spark of light to drift mysteriously upwards until it faded from view altogether. Gasping for breath, Celes shoved Locke over onto Sabin, who uttered a muffled, wheezing sound as the treasure-hunter's elbow pressed into his lungs. She rose to her feet somewhat gracefully, despite the party's calamitous entrance.

"Kefka!" Celes cried in alarm. The ghost was flitting spryly across the dark field, before abruptly coming to a halt. Five, towering black shapes crept across the dull grass towards the transfixed phantom, who began to drift backwards warily. As the individuals advanced into the moonlight, the shade withered away, unveiling the disappointingly disproportionate shadow-casters. Peering through the smothering darkness, Locke suddenly gave a gasp of realisation. Heading towards them, phoenix downs grasped in hands and tentacles, were Terra, Edgar, Setzer, Cid and Ultros.


	7. Another Morally-Questionable Experiment

**ONLY A STORY **which incorporates the word 'Fantasy' in its title could feature a band of rogues, royalty and Imperialist officials coercing the departed spirit of a magic-wielding psychopath onto a steam-powered aircraft with the help of a purple octopus. A tale this extraordinary would fall somewhere between a delightful children's book and the kind of nightmarish trip one suffers after exceeding the recommended dose of green cherries. Nevertheless, the Returners succeeded in their efforts to subdue Ghost-Kefka's wrath and the entire party found themselves on-board the airborne Falcon once more.

Setzer had returned to the helm and, with Ultros' assistance, was now immersing himself in the search for the fabled Floating Continent. Despite the shifting of the world's continents back into their rightful places, the land mass which Kefka had uprooted a year ago was still drifting around the globe's atmosphere like an irritating piece of grit trapped in an otherwise perfectly-healthy eyeball. The continent had infuriatingly eluded the pair's navigational skills thus far. Each time the Falcon drew close to its destination, the island would vanish, leaving Setzer to curse and throw conveniently-placed items at Ultros' bowed head.

"Oh captain!" the octopus groaned as Setzer's crumpled-up map smacked him on the chin. A metal compass followed closely behind, landing by his quivering tentacles with a _clang_. Setzer had turned his back to Ultros and was stroking his grey stubble with a trembling hand.

"C'mon Ultros, _do over_. We need new coordinates…" he urged. Ultros stooped to gather the items in his many arms and slithered backwards down the stairs to the lower deck warily. The gambler continued to gaze out over the ocean which lay below, twinkling mischievously in the twilight.

"Next time, Ultros. I've got a good feeling about this…" he chuckled to himself.

As Ultros wriggled past the Board Room, he winced at the cacophony of voices which rose from behind the door. He froze, his red eyes scanning the rest of the corridor. Seeing no one else around, Ultros pressed his rotund, purple head to the door's keyhole, eavesdropping on the heated debate which was taking place on the other side of the wall. There came the sounds of furious pacing and then the _slam_ of palms against a hard surface.

"For the last time," Edgar seethed between gritted teeth, "_yes_ we are offering to resurrect your body. _No_, that does _not_ make you the Messiah." The corners of Kefka's mouth twisted downwards as though he were witnessing Gau gnaw the bones of a wererat clean. Between them, on the middle of the scrubbed, pinewood table lay a roll of parchment.

Having subdued Kefka enough to lead him down to the Board Room for 'negotiations,' the Returners were initially surprised when the ghost announced that he had already considered a set of conditions for their deal. They were even more astonished when Kefka unfurled a lengthy scroll which bore no fewer than one hundred and fifty different requirements. Now, as Celes was explaining why creating a public holiday in Kefka's honour was not in good taste, Sabin smoothed out the document a little further to read Kefka's looping script. The list ran on for a good nine feet of parchment, only stopping (it seemed) because the maniac had simply run out of space. Sabin curled up the scroll again, tracing the purple ribbon it had been tied with. An extravagant 'K' was embossed on its red, wax seal.

"Kefka," Sabin interrupted, still looking down at the manuscript in front of him, "when did you find time to write all of this?" Without so much as blinking, Kefka's reply came instantaneously.

"While you three were scavenging around in the tunnel like a bunch of pathetic mole people!"

Sabin frowned to himself. Given the dramatic timing of the Phantom train, the Returners' expected arrival in the Afterlife and now the scroll, he was more convinced than ever that Kefka had been masterfully manoeuvring the puppet-strings of the entire operation all along.

"…so that rules out 'The Second Coming'," Celes concluded, crossing out another section of the list. "What's next on the agenda? Item thirty-two: Kefka Palazzo shall be the only living person to possess any form of magical abilities…" As her voice trailed away, Celes shared a look of wide-eyed exasperation with Terra, while Locke and Sabin shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Edgar slowly sank down in his chair, still glaring at the ghost opposite him, who was pretending to file his nails. Kefka stretched his transparent arms above his head and uttered a luxurious yawn, grinning as the list went on.

~̃*~*~̃

On the upper deck, four of Ultros' tentacles flattened out the battered, old map in front of Setzer. A fifth purple tendril curled over the Captain's shoulder to point out their new route, which had been haphazardly plotted to a point several miles in front of where the octopus guessed the Floating Continent could next appear.

"I told ya I'd figure it out!" Ultros smirked, flashing his mangled set of teeth. Setzer nodded curtly at the new coordinates and held out his hand, without looking at the creature. Obediently, Ultros extended a sixth tentacle to the ice box to retrieve the Captain a cold bottle of beer.

"I've got a plan up _every_ sleeve," the octopus cracked with amusement. Setzer's gaze wavered on Ultros' slack grin, then travelled to the dashboard which was littered with fixed dice, trick cards and bottle caps. He swiped some of the items onto the floor then, noting the misplacement of his bottle-opener, thrust his beer under one of Ultros' crooked fangs and wrenched the cap free. The octopus slapped his tentacles to his mouth with a howl of pain as Setzer took a generous gulp of his beverage.

"Onwards!" the Captain bellowed, raising a toast to their next endeavour. Ultros nodded sadly, rubbing his cheek.

Down in the bowels of the airship, the Returners were still engaged in their negotiations. Locke had been gradually slouching forwards in his chair as Kefka's list of demands dragged on into the night. Finally, his head sank onto his chest and then slowly lolled over onto Sabin's shoulder. Sabin, who was snoring quietly, unconsciously nestled the treasure-hunter's head against his own.

"Item number seventy-one," Celes read, her voice brittle and husky, "The Kingdom of Doma shall become the legal property of Kefka Palazzo." She gave another impatient sigh and rubbed her eyes tiredly with her fist. "Kefka… just… why?" The clownish ghoul crossed one leg across his knee and surveyed Celes over his arched fingertips thoughtfully.

"Doma is the cesspit of the Eastern continents," Kefka explained conversationally, "or at least it was once I'd finished with it!" He gave a great whoop of laughter, clapped his hands in glee and then slumped forward in his seat, giggling uncontrollably.

"That's not funny, Kefka. People _died_," Edgar snapped, his jaw clenched with irritation. "Haven't you done enough to Doma?" His disgust deepened as Kefka, who was still hiccoughing, lifted his face from his hands. The ghost's cheeks were flushed dark-grey and tears had gathered in his eyes.

"No… " Kefka countered, wiping his face with his palm. "_Someone_ ought to knock it down and that someone ought to be me! Besides, that's where I'm going to build my tower."

"You're not building _anything_ on Doma because it's not yours," Terra scolded, pointing an authoritative finger at Kefka. "We'll give you a map and you can choose another piece of land to put your tower on as long as you _ask permission first_."

"Please, I'm not a child," Kefka retorted insolently, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. He slammed his ghostly boots on the table's surface and tilted his chair backwards dangerously.

"Okay… I'm sorry," Terra replied, her tone softening considerably, "but you must understand that you can't just have Doma to yourself."

"That's not fair! I HATE YOU!" Kefka bawled, leaping up and kicking his chair over backwards with a clatter. Sabin awoke with a hefty snort as Locke nearly fell to the floor in fright. Just as the walls began to tremble with the ensuing clamour of voices, Professor Cid emerged in the doorway, clapping his hands triumphantly. An unfamiliar, yet not altogether unpleasant smell accompanied him.

"Good news, everyone!" he announced, smiling around at the sea of disgruntled faces, "I've finally perfected the procedure for resurrecting Kefka's body. It turns out that a deadly combination of science and magic will do it." Terra narrowed her eyes at the professor's blood-stained radiation suit sceptically.

"So, you're planning another morally-questionable experiment?" she asked hesitatingly, "how do you even know that it will work?"

"I tested it on a few lab moogles," Cid explained, wiping the sweat and blood flecks from his glasses with a handkerchief. Then, as an afterthought, he added in a hurried tone: "don't go next door until I've cleaned up."

"So, what do you use for something like that?" Locke asked, his hand reaching protectively for the magicite shard in his pocket. "You know… anything rare or unusual?"

"Actually I believe we have everything we need right here," Cid replied. Locke breathed a sigh of relief; his fingers releasing the mysterious stone. Cid surveyed the room, purposefully choosing to ignore the apprehensive expressions on the faces in front of him.

"Yes… I think Celes, Terra and Ultros ought to do the trick."

~̃*~*~̃

Back on the upper deck, Setzer was pushing the Falcon into a steady descent. They were about the draw level with the Floating Continent when his view of the land mass was suddenly obscured by a clump of black clouds as they passed across the flight path. The airship pressed through them, only to be met with empty, dark sky on the other side.

"Oho! She is a cruel mistress…" Setzer growled, sweeping the map to the floor again and sinking his grizzled head onto his arms. His hand felt around the dashboard until it came into contact with an empty beer bottle. He tilted the glass precariously so that the remaining drips landed on his tongue then, with bitter disappointment, hurled the bottle onto the deck where it shattered.

"Another round…" he murmured into his saliva-ridden sleeve, raising an acclamatory finger to no one in particular. Ultros, bearing a dustpan and broom, began to sweep the fragments away.

In the middle of the lower deck, Professor Cid stood with a thick, leather-bound book in his hands. His newly-polished glasses were perched on the end of his nose as he squinted at the page before him; his mouth shaping out the words which were scrawled in tiny, cramped handwriting. Whatever the book suggested, it appeared to satisfy him as he raised his ruddy face to the rest of the crew with a brief nod and slammed the text shut.

"We'll need a bath of warm water… Edgar and Sabin? If you wouldn't mind?" The twins exchanged a mystified glance and then, one after the other, they clanked down the metal stairs to the Engine Room. The Returners had accumulated a multitude of bizarre and sometimes unidentifiable objects on their travels, largely thanks to Locke's kleptomaniac tendencies. Their hoard ranged from old clock keys, tins of Rid-Rust and even one particularly large lump of coral. With nowhere on the upper decks roomy enough to store the strange assortment of items, the group had taken to stowing anything that wasn't crucial to their current adventure next to the stove in the Engine Room. The tin bath tub had been among these objects, until its recent promotion.

"Do I _LOOK LIKE I NEED A BATH?!_" Kefka shrieked over the sounds of scraping metal and the slosh of water from downstairs. His pupils had once again reverted to two smouldering black coals. Cid nervously removed his shining lenses and began to polish them once more.

"Unfortunately Kefka… yes, you will need a bath." Cid replaced his glasses and blinked pointedly at the enraged ghost. "You see, we are attempting to re-create an ancient re-birthing ritual from the Mage Warrior tribe. We'll be using a basin of warm water and a combination of symbolic artefacts to create a potent infusion… one powerful enough to raise you from the grave." He waved a hand genially towards the rusty stairwell. "Now, if we could adjourn downstairs-"

"I don't care what kind of sick soup you're making!" Kefka exploded, his silvery hands balled into trembling fists, "either you morons sign on the dotted line or I'm outta here!" Cid opened his mouth to reassure the phantom but, seeing the mad gleam in Kefka's eyes, felt the first syllable die in his throat. Bravely, Terra placed a comforting hand against the old doctor's back and then, regarding Kefka with an expression of grim resolution, she stepped forward.

"Kefka, we're n-not going to sign your document…" she announced, her voice trembling a lot more than she had hoped it would, "…if you let us carry out the ritual then… you're allowed to keep the magic from one of the Statues of the Warring Triad." Cid, Locke and Celes uttered a wave of gasps and grunts. Kefka's mouth fell open as though he were about to argue but, thinking better of it, he simply lifted a translucent finger to his lips in deliberation. Celes raised her eyebrows, mildly impressed that the maniac possessed the mental faculties required to deliberate at all.

"Two statues," Kefka spoke finally.

"Just _one_ statue," Terra cautioned, her arms folded warily, "and you have to _promise_ not to hurt anyone with your magic." Kefka narrowed his eyes as he considered her offer, before clasping his hands behind his back courteously and sweeping into a grandiose bow before the Returners.

"Oh, I _promise_." Kefka raised his head slowly; the pearly glint of his ghostly grin just visible in the gathering darkness.

~̃*~*~̃

Bidding his humble apologies to Setzer, who had his face pressed into his hands and was slurring incoherently between great, shuddering sobs, Ultros shuffled towards the soft cries which were luring him downstairs. He raised a tentacle to carefully pick out a few smaller fragments of bottle glass from his cheek. If he could only convince himself that Setzer had been aiming for the dustpan, then it would certainly lessen the pain. Either way, it would be a while before Ultros could crack a smile again without wincing.

"Ul-_tros_…" the sing-song voice gently sailed upwards from the lower deck. When the octopus did not instantly appear, a spirited whistling sound followed the chanting.

"I'm not a _dog_," Ultros grumbled, wriggling his way down the stairs. Locke, who was standing at the bottom of the flight, forced a smile which did not quite match the cold, dead stare of his eyes.

"I know…" the treasure-hunter exhaled slowly. He turned away and gave a great hacking cough which sounded suspiciously like "_you smell so much worse_."

The pair took the next staircase together and tentatively stepped inside the Engine Room, which had apparently been transformed into the site of a satanic ritual. Ultros was initially disappointed that Cid and his conspirators had not adorned themselves in hooded robes in honour of the occasion. Curls of purple steam drifted upwards eerily from the tin bathtub which sat in the centre of the floor. Cid had measured a rough handful of green powder in his shaking hands, which he then sprinkled into the water. The liquid hissed venomously and turned a deep shade of navy. Scrutinising his concoction against the diagrams in his book, the professor straightened, nodding to himself. He held out a yellow-clad arm and beckoned Terra, Celes and Kefka to arrange themselves around the bath.

"Ultros!" Cid exclaimed, as though he had unexpectedly run into an old friend rather than a bug-eyed mollusc, "could we have you standing opposite Celes? Wonderful." The four individuals placed themselves in a rough square-shape around the bubbling liquid. Cid motioned for Locke, Sabin and Edgar to join him.

"I'll do most of the reading, but I'll need you three to come in on the chorus," the old doctor explained. Then, reaching into the recesses of his florescent radiation suit, he extracted a small, wooden box. "Er… Sabin? Could you hold onto this…? Right, let's begin…" With the three men gathered about him, Cid began to recite:

"'In the names of Poltergeist, Goddess and Fiend, our Lords and Saviours, we commit to you our _brother'_… now that seems a little excessive," Cid pushed his glasses more securely onto the bridge of his reddened nose, "...'our brother, Kefka Eugene Palazzo…'" At the head of the bathtub, Terra had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling aloud. "…'whom we implore you to bless with lungs so that he may breathe our air, deliver him a body so that he may walk amongst his brethren and grant him with a heart so that it may beat amongst out own.'" Cid's mouth twisted distastefully at the words. "Together…"

"'_Tsud ot tsud_,'" Locke, Edgar and Sabin chorused, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, "'_sehsa ot sehsa…'_" Cid pointed at Kefka, miming for him to _hop in_. The ghost rubbed his hands together eagerly and took quite a few more paces backwards than was strictly necessary.

"I suppose what _does_ happen to kill you, only makes you stronger!" Kefka cackled as he gave two great, prancing strides towards the tub and then leapt gracefully into the air. As his unearthly form twisted and then dove beneath the midnight-blue liquid, not one ripple wrinkled the water's smooth, dark surface. Cid cleared his throat and read the next section of the text aloud.

"A hair from the nemesis…" the professor announced, giving a very deliberate nod in Terra's direction. With a terrible, sinking sensation, Terra edged closer to the bathtub and reached to the top of her head. Grimacing, she plucked out a single strand of green hair and dropped it into the steaming mixture. Kefka, who was now lounging back extravagantly, watched the hair float down to the water's surface where it dissolved with a luminous _sizzle_.

"A tooth from the beast…" Cid declared, looking up from the text book. _Poor Celes_, Ultros considered, _there would be no way to redeem her good looks with a great gap in those man-sized molars. _Torn between bloodlust and queasiness, the Octopus Prince crossed two tentacles over his eyes to create a makeshift visor from which he could view segments of the spectacle. It was quite fortunate that he did not see Edgar approaching soundlessly with his drill.

"And finally!" Cid boomed over Ultros' spine-chilling screams, "a drop of virgin's blood…" Celes let out a gasp of horror and whirled away from the rest of the assembly; one hand clapped to her warm face and the other arm clasped defensively around her waist.

"How dare you?!" she breathed, "that is so offensive! Why me? Surely there's… I don't know… Terra…?" Her voice lapsed into such a heavy silence that Edgar even felt compelled to cease the whirring of his drill. Then, with a howl of amusement, Kefka collapsed over the side of the bathtub, his throaty laughter reverberating off the metallic walls. He pressed a hand to his weeping eyes, managing a brief "_clueless as ever, Celes_" between hiccoughs.

"Hey!" Terra gasped, although her tone lacked the vehemence of Celes'. She glared at Kefka then, her expression faltering, she heaved an exasperated sigh. "Oh, why bother arguing…?"

Celes remained immobile for a moment, hugging her arms to her chest, before slowly turning to face the assembly. Her lips were pressed into a barely-distinguishable line as she removed her sword from its sheath and pricked the tip of her index finger. She stepped closer to the bath and trailed her hand in the navy liquid, which began bubbling fiercely. The young General took a step backwards for Edgar to lean over and toss in Ultros' crooked, blood-splattered fang. Inside the tub, the mixture swirled to a deep shade of indigo and began emitting an ear-splitting whistling sound, much like a kettle brewing to a boil. Cid and the Returners subconsciously stilled their breathing until, at last, the noise had died away. Kefka crossed his arms behind his head and heaved a luxurious sigh, as though he had been lavished with aromatic bath salts. Then, lifting a transparent hand in front of his eyes, the ghoul threw his head back and roared in anguish.

"Cid, you miserable blockhead!" Kefka seethed, gesturing to his wraithlike form, "I'm still as dead as a door-nail!" Cid gaped blankly at the ghost, shaking his profusely-sweating head in disbelief. Locke sympathetically averted his eyes away from the professor's horrified expression and caught Terra's intense gaze. He squinted in an attempt to lip-read the phrase she was fervently mouthing at him.

"…did you just say _shite_?" he whispered, mildly surprised at the brutality of her language. Terra shook her head wildly and slowed down the phrase to such an extent that she resembled a diner chewing on a giant, invisible whelk. When Locke still appeared nonplussed, she instead offered a word that would have made 'shite' seem a compliment in comparison.

"_"Oh, I tested it on moogles…"_" Kefka continued in a quavering, old voice, while perching an imaginary pair of spectacles on the end on his hooked nose, "congratulations on your worst scientific screw-up yet!" Shifting the wooden box under his arm, Sabin opened his mouth to point out the irony of the Kefka's statement, but his words were swept away by the rest of the phantom's tirade.

Rapidly losing patience with Locke, who appeared to have given up the guessing game entirely, Terra daringly raised her voice by a fraction of a decibel.

"_Magicite!_" she hissed. With a thrill of panic, Locke quickly glanced at Celes, who was frantically whispering with Edgar and Sabin. The three of them ceased their mutters as Cid again began protesting feebly at the incensed ghost.

"But Kefka, I don't know what else to _do_…" the old professor attempted weakly as Kefka upturned the bathtub and its black, congealed contents all over the Engine Room floor. An expression of utter despair crumpled Cid's features as Kefka rained a flood of obscure and creative obscenities upon him. Equally furious with Locke, Terra gestured around at the ensuing madness, but the treasure-hunter had already leapt to his feet. His stomach groaned as though it had wriggled itself into impenetrable knots.

"I'm sick… again. I n-need some air!" he gasped, to the complete indifference of the crew, who were now attempting to prevent Kefka from maliciously kicking piles of black mulch at them. Locke shook his head regretfully at Terra once more and swiftly began to climb the stairs to the lower deck.

~̃*~*~̃

Back at the airship's controls, Setzer's body was draped over the dashboard. His sagging jaw hung open but occasionally closed itself with a wet _popping_ sound. A glistening trail ran from his mouth and pooled in the crevice of his elbow.

"…eugh…" the Captain murmured, "… shtop… playing… hard… to… getsh…" All the air seemed to leave Setzer's lungs in one great gasp as he keeled over sideways and sank limply against the ship's joystick. The Falcon's propellers screamed in protest as the ship was dragged down sharply to the right. As the vessel plummeted towards the earth, a low snore rumbled from Setzer's chest.

Locke's hand reached into his jacket pocket just as he was nearing the lower deck. Then, with a horrible, swooping sensation not dissimilar to having his intestines yanked down into his boots, Locke was plunged head-first into the rusty stairwell. A steady _clank, clank, clank_ echoed in the hollow din. Groaning, Locke tenderly raised his face from the step it had slammed into, to see that every individual in the room was staring in his direction. Only, their eyes were not fixated on his battered face, but on the jade magicite shard that lay glittering at his feet.


	8. Earth, Wind and Plenty of Fire

**WIPING THE SALIVA** from his chin, Setzer curled himself into the foetal position on the Falcon's deck. Each breath stirred nausea. Every blink of his eyelids agonised the very fibres of his skull. He ran his tongue heavily around his parched mouth then, gathering what was left of his resolve, the gambler dragged himself up onto his knees.

They were no longer moving. Sunlight glared down upon Setzer's upturned face. Although the wind felt several degrees warmer, it still whipped through his unkempt hair viciously. With each lashing Setzer's pale skin was pummelled by black grains of sand. The Captain stared at the alien landscape dully, his dehydrated brain attempting to drink in his surroundings. Great sand dunes towered in bizarre and inexplicable shapes against the violet sunrise. He rubbed his eyes tiredly; seeing but disbelieving. Just visible through the whirlwinds of dust were three figures. They were dancing.

With very little grace, Setzer staggered to his feet and heaved himself over one of the Falcon's panting sides. He stumbled on the rocky terrain and fell, hacking violently, against the steaming craft. Then, licking his pale, cracked lips, Setzer took a few ungainly steps forward. Shielding his eyes with a white hand, the Captain stared fiercely back into the sun as he haphazardly progressed towards the pirouetting figures. After several disjointed steps, he sank to his knees. Cursing through gritted teeth, Setzer shakily forced himself to his feet.

There were the dancers; as still and silent as stone. Setzer staggered closer, his mouth falling open so that a sudden gust of black sand blew into it. Once his retching had subsided, the gambler gazed up at the figures again. Each was frozen in a dynamic pose. One was crouched on bended knee. Another was caught in a perfect pirouette; her arms raised heavenwards. The last had an arm extended, as though he had reached for her hand only seconds before the trio had been entombed within their marble caskets. Setzer fumbled in the recesses of his grubby overcoat for his tobacco. He lit his pipe with trembling hands and discarded the match on the dusty ground.

"Well, what are the odds?" he managed huskily, "…never thought I'd see you guys all put back together again." He exhaled a cloud of smoke into the faces of the Warring Triad.

~̃*~*~̃

Locke sat on the stairs to the lower deck, his knees drawn protectively into his chest. He stared down at the magicite shard which still lay gleaming on the Engine Room's floor. A dirty, yellow bruise was beginning to bloom across his left cheek-bone. Even before he spoke, a look of resignation had taken hold of his features.

"Before you say anything, just let me-"

"Don't bother," Celes cut in coldly. She strode up the stairs past him, without as much as a glance in his direction. Locke let out a snarl of frustration and scuffed the skin from his knuckles on one of the metal steps. He glared at the magicite once more and, in that one irrational moment, found himself fervently hating Phoenix. As he slowly raised his head, Locke caught Kefka's ravenous eye. The pair studied each other for a second then, almost simultaneously, they dove for the stone.

"Get off you miserable clown!" Locke yelled, wrenching the magicite from Kefka's grasping fingers. "This is _my_ magicite. It came to _me!"_ With that, he sprang to his feet and tore up the staircase. Kefka sat back on his heels, scowling after him. He threw Cid a particularly dirty look, then scooped up a handful of the black jelly that had been splattered across the floor.

"I've had just about enough of you, _Cid_," he glowered, launching a dark clump of congealed mess through the air. "Clean this up, you pathetic excuse for a professor!" Cid opened his mouth in reply, but with the worst possible timing.

~̃*~*~̃

Leaning against the cold marble of Goddess' arched back, Setzer puffed meditatively at his pipe. His thoughts had wandered from the statues, taken a wrong turning at the beauty of the female form and somehow ended up where they usually did when he found himself with an extra pouch of tobacco and too much time on his hands. Tilting his head towards the sunrise, Setzer wondered how Daryll was spending her eternity in the Afterlife. Given that she could fly without an airship now, it certainly opened up a lot of travel options. He smiled wistfully to himself. Then, with a violent start, Setzer was drawn from his reverie by the sudden tumult of voices from the deck of the Falcon.

"Celes!" Locke roared, stumbling over a coil of rope as he emerged onto the upper deck. Swearing, he disentangled his foot and limped over to the starboard side where Celes was leaning over the ship's railings. A gust of gritty air momentarily swirled her hair into a golden fan, then flung it spitefully into her eyes. She made a sound of exasperation and groped to tie her ribbon more securely. Locke watched her, mesmerised, before realising that the words his mouth was forming were unaccompanied by sound. "Celes!" he uttered finally, "I'm sorry… let me explain!"

For a moment no one spoke. When Celes turned to face him, Locke was unsurprised to see her mouth set in a firm, thin line. Before she could say a word, a low growl echoed through the stillness. Cringing, Locke clapped a hand to his stomach. Apparently his insides were still squirming uncomfortably at the prospect of an emotional ambush. Whether out of politeness or determination, Celes ignored the interruption and continued.

"You've had a hard time trusting me." Memories of those dark days lay, unspeakable, between them. "I thought we had moved past that though." The earnestness of Locke's reply caught her off-guard.

"We have!"

"But you told me that piece of magicite was broken!" Grief tore up Celes' voice. She swallowed and gesticulated in frustration, while her composure attempted to repair itself. Locke looked away, ashamedly. "Why - lie?" her words came as brittle as glass.

"I couldn't tell anyone." Locke chewed on his lower lip in contemplation. "You don't understand… it's been impossible for me…"

Impossible. Celes found herself nodding along to Locke's meagre explanation, barely suppressing a sardonic smile. What exactly _was_ impossible?

Since the day she had sailed across the perilous seas around Solitary Island on no more than a few flimsy planks bound together with twine, the concept of _impossible_ had been altogether erased from Celes' vocabulary. She had prayed through sweat and tears at each swell and crash of the towering waves around her. On land, she had slept in shallow pits dug from the dry earth with her blood-stained nails. When food became scarce, she had forced herself to chew on raw vegetable roots and lick moss from boulders. During one particularly low moment, which she had never been proud to admit to, Celes had even threatened to slit Sabin's throat over a squirrel's eyeball. Each day her suffering had intensified and, if not for the thought of finding Locke out there in the wilderness, Celes would have surrendered to death a thousand times over.

She had believed he had been searching for her too.

Alas, the image of Locke, whispering excitedly to that blasted, green stone about awakening the past and second chances, would be forever engraved upon her memory. Even now, when Celes considered how to relay her feelings of despair, inspiration and then crushing humiliation, the words refused to form themselves. She and Locke were islands of experience. Neither could traverse those vast and complex waters which ran so deeply in-between.

"So you've been keeping the magicite for Rachel..." Celes spoke finally, "I just wish you hadn't tried to pretend it was broken. What was the point of lying to everyone?" Before Locke had a chance to contradict her, there came the _clang_ of frantic footsteps from the stairwell. Terra appeared on the deck, her cheeks flushed crimson and her mint-green hair strewn wildly across her face. She sprinted towards the pair and then flung herself, somewhat heroically, in-between where Celes and Locke stood.

"Celes! It's not what you think!" Terra gasped, doubled-up in pain from the short burst of expelled energy. She hunched over, wheezing noisily onto the airship's decking until she had regained her breath. Then, straightening, Terra pushed a tangled mass of hair from her eyes. "Locke was never going to use that magicite again. He's just been carrying it around with him." She beamed at Celes, much like an auctioneer who had just bestowed a priceless portrait to the highest bidder. Celes' eyes darted from Terra to Locke.

"You told _her_?"

"Er…" The portion of Locke's brain devoted to fabricating excuses spun like a slot machine. As the cogs slowed, his options gradually diminished from _it wasn't that I didn't tell her_ to _yes – but only because she threatened me!_ With a final click, the imaginary needle landed on the only remaining response.

"Told her what?" Locke asked, trying his utmost best to appear politely puzzled. A spasm shuddered through Celes' clenched jaw.

"Sorry…" Terra broke the silence nervously, "…I didn't know it was a big secret…"

Without a word, Celes turned on her heel and marched away. As she passed Locke, the young General slammed her shoulder into his collar bone. Cid, who was nearing the top of the stairs, shrank against the wall as she passed. A flicker of alarm briefly seized the professor's features as the sounds of intense suffering reached his ears.

"Trouble in paradise?" Cid tried cheerfully, before noticing Locke who had crumpled to the floor in agony. The professor's face fell; his moustache drooping over his upper lip as though in defeat. Terra attempted a weak smile back at him.

"…did you know you have dirt on your face?" she asked, suddenly peering up at dark smear across Cid's forehead. He heaved a sigh and rubbed at his head with his palm.

"Enough about my face!" Cid grumbled, his cheeks reddening with impatience, "now Locke, up you get – that's it – did you know that the magicite you dropped is actually the crystallised remains of an Esper known as Phoenix?" Locke wobbled and clung to Cid's yellow sleeve to keep from toppling over again.

"Sure did," the Treasure-Hunter managed in a voice several semi-tones higher than usual. The old professor leaned in eagerly; his voice feverish with excitement.

"So, theoretically, whoever used the stone would be able to summon Phoenix and use its powers of resurrection?" With no regard for Lock's sense of personal space, Cid pressed closer still; the quickening of his breath misting up his spectacles.

"Do what you want with it… I can't use it now…" Locke's head sank onto his chest in submission. Cid nodded slowly; a glint of pity shining in his pale eyes. Then, without further hesitation, he plucked the shard from Locke's outstretched hand.

"Why, thank you young man! Now Terra, could you summon this Esper for us?" Affronted by the abruptness of Cid's request, Terra found herself temporarily wordless. She folded her arms defensively. Locke made a small noise in the back of his throat and stared down dejectedly at his feet.

"Why…?" Terra asked slowly, a note of accusation ringing in her voice, "it's because I'm half-Esper… isn't it? I suppose you think Phoenix is a relative of mine or something?"

"Well… isn't he?" Cid pressed eagerly, all the while cradling the magicite as though it were a new-born infant.

"A distant cousin-thrice-removed or something," Terra conceded with a vague wave of her hand, "but that doesn't mean he'll necessarily want to speak to _us_."

~̃*~*~̃

Unfortunately, Terra's reluctance was far too feeble to deter the scientist. After rescuing Edgar, Sabin and Ultros from the clutches of an exceptionally ill-tempered Kefka, the party amassed themselves on the Falcon's deck. Noblemen, less-than-noble men, ghosts and octopi were all gathered to witness the miracle of rebirth.

Under Cid's scrutinous stare, Terra stood anxiously juggling the magicite from one shaking hand to the other. Unsure of how one went about this summoning business, she cleared her throat huskily and shook the nervous energy from her arms. Amongst the magically-minded of the universe, it was a well-established belief that speaking in a cryptic-sounding whisper could enhance even the most complicated spells. This was, at least, the only memory of her education in Magical Theory that remained with her. That and, in the words of her short-tempered magic tutor, _unless you like being bald - always keep that bird's nest you call hair tied back!_

Terra smiled, nodding to herself and tucking a few green strands behind her ears. Then, with a sudden jolt of recollection, she felt the unwelcome eyes of the crowd upon her. _Had she been speaking out loud?_ Hell, whenever her consciousness put up the 'vacant' signs in the windows and went out for a stroll, it was anyone's guess.

"Phoenix…" Terra attempted in the mistiest voice she could muster, "…heed my call…"

No sooner had she uttered the final syllable, the ground beneath the Falcon trembled. There came a _crack_ like the sound of flint on steel. Flames licked up between each of the deck's wooden planks; merging together in dazzling, orange lines. The fire sketched itself around the huddled group, forming the illuminous skeleton of an enormous bird. Then, with an explosion of light, an unearthly, red-plumed creature arose from the bath of heath. The Returners gazed in awe as the Esper soared upwards, spreading its huge wings wide and showering them with gold and scarlet fireworks. Ultros howled as his bug eyes were singed by straying ashes, while the rest of the party threw their capes over their heads. Celes appeared at the top of the stairs, bewildered by the cowering individuals hopping from foot to foot and unsuccessfully attempting to fan the flames from their hair and clothes. Kefka watched on, delighted.

"HUMANS, EH?" Phoenix's voice boomed over the cries of anguish, "WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU?" Edgar, who had been gawping up at the magnificent, mythical beast, held Terra's forearm in awe.

"Hey, when _you_ were an Esper, how come you didn't speak like that?" he whispered. Terra, who had tilted her ear to Edgar's mouth, turned to glance up again at Phoenix. She gave a small shrug of her shoulders.

"I probably would have if there had been a _real_ emergency," she admitted. Edgar opened his mouth to ask which sub-category of 'emergency' was generally reserved for Armageddon, when the pathway of his thoughts was obstructed by a voice.

"I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY YOU KNOW."

"Sorry… we'd like to revive that one!" Terra shouted, pointing helpfully at Kefka, who gave a loud sniff of disdain.

"ARE YOU SURE?" echoed Phoenix's voice doubtfully, "THE LAST I HEARD, HE WAS PUSHING OUR RACE TO THE BRINK OF EXTINCTION WITH THOSE UNHOLY STEAM-POWERED ROBOTICS OF HIS."

"General Kefka E. Palazzo at your service!" the ghost announced with a mock salute and a silent click of his boots, "Gracious, it feels like only yesterday doesn't it? Well, how about a little reviving?"

"WHY DON'T YOU USE YOUR OWN POWERS, _GOD OF MAGIC?_" Phoenix addressed Kefka for the first time, curving his steely beak downwards to where the undead mage hovered.

"I hardly _look_ like a God, do I?" Kefka snapped, one translucent hand on his hip, "these idiots killed me, now they're trying to make amends having just learned that the world is a truly tragic place AK." He swept his eyes to the heavens as though to emphasise the folly of it all.

"AK?" Phoenix echoed.

"_After Kefka_," came the ghost's voice, tinged with condescension.

"I DOUBT IT'LL BE ANY _LESS_ TRAGIC WITH A MANIAC LIKE YOU ON THE LOOSE AGAIN."

"Enough lip, you barbecued chicken!" Kefka screamed, wringing his fist at the Esper, "just do your job."

There was a sudden, intense roar of heat as Phoenix rose above the heads of the Returners. With a cataclysmic beat of his wings, he blew away into scarlet vapour. Amidst the screams and stamping of feet to extinguish the flames, Kefka stood, a wide smile creeping across his face. He turned his white hands over and back again, examining them like foreign specimens. He pressed them to his thin face and felt the top of his head. With an unintelligible curse he withdrew his hand; the chocobo feather in his hair was on fire. Then, with a thrill of realisation, Kefka realised he had felt pain.

Studying Kefka closely, Cid swung out a yellow-clad arm to devise himself a path through the crowd. Sabin was clumsily assisting Edgar in stamping on his cape; his feet connecting with the back of his brother's legs more often than the garment itself. Terra passed in front of the professor, rubbing Ultros' greasy, purple back with a soothing hand.

"Come on you, let's go get some ice for those burns… we don't want deep-fried calamari on the menu today, do we?"

Audibly-wheezing, Cid forced his way to where Kefka was stepping from side to side; admiring the pull of gravity at his mortal feet. The vision of the world's most despicable antagonist once again in possession of a functional body was enough to make the old doctor feel faintly sick.

"I'm going to need to run some tests as soon as possible-" Cid began, but Kefka swatted him away with the back of his newly fleshed-out hand. The maniac paused for a moment, marvelling at the sensation that accompanied a genuine flinch, rather than one of those pity-induced motions that Wedge used to enact for his benefit. When at last he spoke, Kefka's voice carried an odd inflection of joy, disappointment and carelessness; all mingled within two syllables. As the words settled on the Returners' ears, Locke groaned audibly. Edgar and Sabin turned warily to the source of the noise, quite forgetting the glowing embers which were steadily consuming Edgar's cape. Cid gazed over at Celes in despair. The young General tensed her hand on the hilt of her sword, her lips pursed together tightly. Ultros slithered towards where he assumed the stairwell was located but, with two of his tentacles crossed over his wounded eyes, slid straight into the ship's railing with a muffled moan. Only Terra remained impassive; her expression utterly indecipherable.

"I'm _ali-ive!_"


	9. The Grand Finale

"**YOU CERTAINLY ARE** alive Kefka," Cid conceded with a nervous twitch of his head. His reddened cheeks trembled as he continued in a quivering voice. "However, I must insist that we run some tests as soon as-"

"Oh shut up, Cid!" Kefka quipped savagely, waving the old professor away, "_your_ part's over. Now, it's time for the grand finale!" The mage raised his arms elegantly, almost as though he were conducting an invisible orchestra, and conjured a spark of flame between his nimble fingers. He crooned softly as he watched the light dance majestically between his pale hands. "Beautiful… so beautiful… oh it does feel so _good_ to have my magic back." Kefka raised his head, his eyes alight with malevolence. "I guess you were right, Celes. As a reward, you can be first!" With an outraged cry, Terra stumbled forward and flung an arm out in front of him.

"But you promised to help us!" she screamed, pointing a shaking finger at Kefka's creeping, self-satisfied smile. Mirroring her gestures completely, the mage waved his own finger mockingly back at her. Terra's mouth twisted in revulsion; hatred hardening the soft contours of her face. Trembling with a mingled sensation of anxiety and loathing, she inched closer to him. As her venomous stare merged into his own, Kefka released his breath in a slow sigh of impatience; secretly relishing the novelty of exhalation as he did so.

"Now, what does it mean when someone crosses their fingers behind their back while they're making a promise?" he whispered deviously. Kefka awaited his answer with a theatrical hand poised to his ear.

"It's a lie!" Terra replied instantaneously. Then, recalling the extravagant bow Kefka had performed to the Returners earlier, she gave a gasp of horror. Such a childish method of betrayal was… well, not entirely unexpected from a thirty-five year old man with the emotional maturity of a seven-year-old. Satisfied with Terra's response, Kefka flexed his fingers experimentally. A shower of yellow sparks crackled in the air between his palms.

"I'm gonna crush you cockroaches for good this time!" His pale eyes narrowed, mapping the progress of an invisible target until it had landed on his selected mark; _smack_ _dab_ in the centre of Cid's forehead. "Bull's eye!"

"GET DOWN GRANDPA!" Celes bellowed, hurling herself against the professor so that the pair fell sprawling onto the Falcon's deck. Cid gave a strangled yell, flailing to pull himself upright. The sizzle of a fire spell grazed over the top of his head, melting the rubber of his yellow radiation suit. Grabbing a potion from her pack, Celes uncorked the bottle with her teeth and upturned its contents onto the flames before they could spread. She sank backwards, struggling for breath as Cid patted the smoking hood of his suit warily.

"Sabin – the wooden box!"

"I'm on it, Cid!" Sabin shouted through cupped hands. He clapped his brother briefly on the back, almost as though he were tagging him into some form of grotesque tournament, before sprinting barefoot down the stairs to the Engine Room.

Celes leapt up, ducking her head under crossed arms to avoid the black cloud of a mysterious spell which wailed as it soared past her ears. She threw herself behind a giant, coil of rope for cover. Just beyond her, the spell connected with the airship's joystick, blasting it into splinters. Locke lunged for Kefka next, sweeping the air with his dagger. An ear-splitting _crack_ of lightening sent him reeling backwards into the airship's mast. Edgar, who had scrambled halfway up the wooden beam, yelled in fright as the whole structure shuddered. Locke's body crumpled onto the deck, convulsing. His blackened face twisted around to the others; white eyes rolling into the back of his head. Terra uttered a blood-curdling scream.

"Why do we always attack one at a time?!" she cried out, cradling Locke's limp body out of the way of a rogue arrow that had strayed from Edgar's crossbow. Sheltering behind her makeshift barrier, Celes clamped her hands to her ears as the rope was devoured by the roar of a _Merton_ spell. She sucked in a great gasp of smoke and thundered her reply at the top of her lungs.

"Standard Imperial Combatting Laws state that battles involving more than-"

"Screw Imperial Laws!" Terra roared, throwing herself recklessly at Kefka's back. The pair fell hard against the decking, sending Kefka's _firaga_ spell off-course and into The Falcon's mast. Edgar gave a short cry as the wooden beam ignited just below his feet. He began blowing rapidly at the advancing flames then, feeling the soles of his feet warming, decided to wrench his body towards the top of the structure before it exemplified a whole new definition of _hot_.

With a snarl, Kefka swung the back of his hand into Terra's face. Instinctively, she seized his wrist in her hand; her nails biting into the newly-bestowed flesh on his arm.

"Stop fooling around _now_!" she hissed between clenched teeth. Kefka lashed his free hand around Terra's other wrist and struggled to pin her to the ground. The pair nearly knocked heads as they savagely pulled each other by the arms. Terra's legs buckled under Kefka's weight and she fell backwards, dragging the mage down on top of her. Panting, Kefka managed to twist his hand free from Terra's grasp and wrap his fingers around her throat.

"You're mine!" he gasped then, his eyes sparkling with pleasure, he added "you know, just like old times, Terra!" There came the heavy padding of bare feet as Sabin tore down the length of the airship.

"Hang on, Terra!"

""Hang on!" he says…" Kefka clucked his tongue sympathetically, "how long have you got to hang on, I wonder?" Terra's body jolted violently under his grasp; her mouth falling open in anguish. As Kefka increased the pressure, she uttered a vile, gagging sound. He watched her writhing eyes in fascination.

"The end draws near…" Kefka remarked speculatively, "…tell Leo I said…" He paused, then lowered his head to Terra's ear and whispered. Behind them there came the clatter of a blunt object tumbling onto the ship's deck. Sabin fell against Kefka's shoulder-blades, his hands firmly gripped to the mage's head. The two men flailed around wildly until, quite suddenly, Kefka dropped to the ground, as limp as a lettuce leaf.

"- did it - " Sabin breathed, collapsing on the ship's deck in relief. He crawled over to Terra and lifted her head and shoulders into his lap. "We need a phoenix down over here!" Sabin frowned to himself, raising his own head and sniffing at the foggy air suspiciously. To his left Celes lay spread-eagled, surrounded by a raging bonfire. Underneath the ship's mast, Locke's body was still smoking slightly from the thunder spell he had taken. Far above him, Edgar was frantically waving for his brother's attention. Sabin sighed and shook his head.

"What a mess. _Three_ phoenix downs, Cid! And a ladder… if we've got one."

~̃*~*~̃

"Slave Crown," Sabin explained briefly. The rest of the crew peered closer, amazed. Kefka sat on his heels, staring vacantly into the distance. If it hadn't been for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, or his unconscious blinking, the man could have been permanently and irretrievably dead.

"How did you know to have the Slave Crown ready?" Edgar asked, adjusting the sash on his trousers carefully. Following his close escape from the burning mast, the young King had disposed of his boots, cape and hose, all of which had been partially-singed by Kefka's fire spell. In the absence of spare clothes, he had been forced to borrow a spare set of Gaia Gear from Sabin. The trousers hung far too loose around his legs and were barely held onto his waist by the fabric belt which accompanied them. Considering that his tunic hardly matched his new attire, Edgar had also decided to strip himself from the waist up. Sabin might have believed his brother too, if it wasn't for the way he puffed out his naked chest as he spoke.

"Well, it's always a good back-up measure when dealing with someone difficult," Cid replied on behalf of Sabin, "plus it's Kefka, so…" Edgar nodded sympathetically. Now that he had lowered the melted hood of his radiation suit, the professor's unkempt, gingery hair was visibly plastered to his forehead. He mopped his perspiring brow with the back of his hand. Celes rummaged in her bag until her hand closed over Cid's spotted handkerchief.

"Here you are, grandpa," she coughed, passing the scrap of material to him.

"Anyway, we need to make Kefka return his powers without delay!" Cid urged, his purpled jowls quivering with panic, "quickly! Before our dying world begins to decay!" His watery eyes, enlarged to an alarming size behind his spectacles, roved the crowd desperately. "Someone? Anyone?" Terra's gloved hand shot into the hair so violently that she almost clipped the hairs on Cid's chin.

"I will," she croaked. The bruising from Kefka's fingers was still discernible around her throat. She turned her head stiffly, her eyes narrowing at the wretched, grey circlet that sat on Kefka's hair.

"Thank you, Terra. Let's go to the statues!" Cid gestured eagerly over to where Setzer was lying, cradled in the arms of Fiend and exhaling smoke circles into the brightening sky.

~̃*~*~̃

As the party progressed to the statues, Locke slowed his walking pace so that he fell in step beside Terra. As he drew level with her, the adventurer caught the end of Terra's muttered instructions to Kefka. The mage instantaneously slapped himself hard across the face, smearing his white make-up away so that the redness of his cheek was visible. Locke let his breath escape him in one, low hiss.

"Steady on!" he gasped, his hand jumping to the back of his head. Despite his best efforts to flatten it, Locke's hair still retained enough static charge for it to stubbornly stand on end. "I know you're probably still a little rattled from what Kefka did to you… but take it easy!" Terra's voice escaped her hoarsely.

"Locke, they… they put this crown on me and controlled my every waking thought since I… well… since before I can even remember!" She gave a husky grunt of exasperation and then snapped at Kefka for him to stamp on his own foot.

"Look, about before," Locke continued over Kefka's involuntary yowl of pain, "Terra, you really need a filter on that trap of yours!" She turned to stare at him in wide-eyed amazement; the sound of her ragged breathing filling the silence between them.

"What do you mean?" Terra croaked reproachfully.

"Well you have a habit of… of…" Locke faltered, suddenly wary of the steely glint which shone in her eyes, "…inappropriately blurting things out." Terra gaped at him in indignation, then pressed her lips together sourly. She glared away from Locke, mouthing "blurting" to herself in disbelief. Locke held out his hands genially.

"Look, there was the time you called _me_ a thief."

Terra felt the sketch of a scene manifest itself in her mind. Somewhere in the halls of Figaro Castle she vaguely recalled using the word 'thief' as a loose term to describe Locke's occupation. It mattered not, considering the fact that they had only just met. That, plus her amnesia had warped her sense of propriety. In fact, if she was being completely honest, Terra still wasn't entirely sure how to differentiate 'thief' from 'Professional Treasure Hunter.'

"Or the time you hurt Edgar's feelings…"

Then there was Edgar's flirting which had completely eluded her. Again, the amnesia was probably to blame for the blunt manner with which she asked what was wrong with him. At the time, Terra had reasoned that a normal girl may have reacted differently, but in her case she was neither a normal girl, nor was he her 'type.' Besides, it was inexcusable for a strange man, king or not, to start hitting on her, especially when she had just arrived on foreign soil! All in all, she was quite justified in asking him who _exactly_ he thought he was.

"Or the time you made fun of Sabin's weight-"

"Now wait a minute," Terra interrupted huskily, holding up her hand as though it were a shield to Locke's accusations, "I'm sorry, but when a large, hairy man emerges from a dark mountain cave which is known to be a natural habitat to Ipooh bears, I think it's a perfectly excusable mistake to misidentify him." As she raised her head, Terra unintentionally caught Sabin's eye. The monk heaved a melancholy sigh and trailed off miserably; the Slave Crown's wooden box hanging limply down by his side.

"Oh Sabin, I didn't say large and hairy was a bad thing…" Terra tried, her weak voice fading to no more than a hoarse whisper. She stared mournfully after the young Prince. "Punch yourself in the nose."

"I'm sorry?" Locke asked, but Kefka immediately obliged with a muffled "yeouch!"

~̃*~*~̃

The Returners finally arrived before the three statues of the Warring Triad. Setzer swung from Fiend's huge, upturned hand onto the rocky terrain below him. Sabin, Terra and Locke exchanged a few uncomfortable glances. No one had been able to construct a reasonable explanation for the damage sustained to The Falcon during the battle with Kefka. During the walk, Edgar had been trying to add up the cost of re-boarding the ship's deck, repairing the main controls, mast and, finally, replacing the other items near the helm which had been caught in the crossfire. His only conclusion was that Setzer was going to have to place a very large bet on a situation with an obvious outcome in the near future. As the party tiredly shuffled into a semi-circle around Poltergeist, Goddess and Fiend, Edgar cleared his throat importantly. As if in response, a cloud which had been hesitating next to the sun drifted on by, leaving dazzling golden rays to illuminate the scene.

"I'm not normally one for speeches, but I think today calls for an exception," the King began and, before anyone could beg him not to, he continued in an unctuous voice. "It's been a bumpy ride… mostly thanks to Setzer…" He gave a regal wave of his hand in the Captain's direction, who leered back at him nastily. "However, we now get to see the power of magic restored… and used purely for good! I think it's all been our fantasy to witness the day that good and evil can strive together for a common goal. That time has finally come. You could say this moment is our-" The young King was suddenly cut off by a horrible sound, halfway between a retch and a howl.

The others turned in astonishment to watch Kefka swaying weakly from side to side. The left side of his face twitched horribly and dark purple blood was oozing steadily from his left nostril. Terra smiled apologetically to the crowd and ducked her head meekly.

"I did tell him to stop hitting himself," she rasped. "Okay, Kefka… go give your magic back to the statues."

It was one of those beautiful, awe-inspiring and intrinsically rare moments which should always be accompanied by a stirring chorus of harps and pan-flutes. Kefka benevolently held out his palms and, in a wave of shimmering colour, the Warring Triad retrieved their stolen powers. Cid smiled to himself, imagining the music swelling to a crescendo with the accompaniment of a military drum beat. As he began to hum aloud, Sabin frowned at the old professor and stepped a few paces back.

Glittering particles of red, yellow, blue and a few other colours which had never been thought to exist before, encircled the three figures. The marble of the statues shimmered and threw incredible beams of light towards the heavens. In the vast distance, the pale sky pulsed and crackled with thunder. When the magical activity had ceased, Cid heaved a relaxed sigh against Goddess, before realising he had settled his head on her breast. With an uncomfortable, flustered motion, he quickly stood upright again.

Celes and Terra glanced at each other dubiously. Both women stretched out their hands before themselves warily. Then, quite suddenly, they shouted in unison.

"_Blizzaga_!"

"_Firaga_!"

The two spells collided with a _clash_ in mid-air, sending melted lumps of ice slopping onto the dusty ground. Terra laughed aloud with glee, while Celes smiled determinedly at the horizon. It looked as though ethers would need to be added to the shopping list once again.

Edgar, too, wanted to feel content at the notion that magic had re-emerged into existence but, much like the bitter aftertaste that accompanied the heady intoxication of wine, the sweetness of victory was bound to be short-lived. He awkwardly straightened his sash and then blurted out the question that was preying on everyone's mind.

"So… have we really saved the world this time?"

"Yes, now you've done a thorough job and no more needs to be done!" Cid smiled around at the exhausted faces and swung his hands into a series of claps which ricocheted around the Floating Continent's great, sand dunes. The Returners watched him in silent confusion. A breeze whipped up a whirlwind of dark sand. Ultros gave a great hacking cough.

"What about him?" Sabin spoke up. He jerked his thumb in the direction of Kefka who, from the way his hand was clamped to his chest and his eyes were brimming with tears, looked very much as though he was squeezing his nipple within an inch of its life.

"Let's kill him!" came Locke's strangled cry. As his hand sought the handle of his dagger, Terra leapt up and caught him by the wrist.

"No, it's not a fair fight!" she croaked. Locke gazed incredulously at her, his hand still clamped around the weapon's hilt.

"And fighting him up four shelves of demons in Hell's stock room was?!" he retorted impatiently, "come on, Terra…" Celes strode between them, her arms folded indecisively.

"What if we just flew him out to a remote corner of Figaro Desert and… left him there…?" Locke frowned in consideration as he unsuccessfully attempted to flatten his hair once more. Only Terra shook her head.

"He's not some mangy old sheep dog! If we leave him out there like this, he'll _die_." Edgar, who had also been listening in, widened his eyes emphatically.

"Well _good."_

Cid joined them, his hands clasped in the manner which suggested he was considering a dangerous and experimental solution.

"If I may, there's an experiment I wouldn't mind trying. You see, when we worked with the Espers in the Magitek laboratory, they would often become quite hostile and difficult to control. I never understood why. Anyway, I created a chemical infusion which can act as a sedative in heavy doses. In light doses, it can calm aggression and serve to make Kefka more… bearable."

"What if it doesn't work…?" Terra asked, her eyes narrowing sceptically. Cid chuckled to himself.

"Oh, there's a very high probability that he'll die quickly anyway."

"I like those odds," Setzer murmured warmly to himself, "I say we go for it." Cid gave another hearty laugh at the gambler's words.

"Yes, those are exactly the same odds I gave him during his Magitek infusion. If I had known he was going to hang in there screaming to the heavens for three days and nights, I wouldn't have placed a 50,000 gil wager on it." Cid stared off into the distance wistfully. "He did ask me to kill him, you know? _Repeatedly_. Anyway, that's the reason I couldn't afford a new specimen capsule. Serves me right for having a sense of morals doesn't it?" Locke stared after the professor as he and the other members of the crew walked back to the airship. Kefka tottered among them, following Terra's lead. Celes brushed past Locke to join the others then, thinking better of it, turned to look back over her shoulder. Disgust was written all over Locke's face.

"Your 'grandfather' is a very disturbed man…"

Celes opened her mouth to argue with him, but as she raised her eyes to the midday sun, found that she had very little grounds for doing so.

"I suppose you're right…" She gave him a small nod and half-turned to walk away. Celes paused after her first step, remaining momentarily motionless. When she eventually spoke, she did so without looking at him. "Locke, I'm sorry for over-reacting earlier. I know Terra's your friend… and that you tell her things you can't tell other people." They both started at the sound of an anguished cry in the distance. Setzer had obviously discovered the fate of his beloved aircraft. Locke gave a quick glance around the area to ensure they were completely out of ear-shot, then he gently placed a hand on her forearm.

"Celes…" She whirled round to face him with a sharp intake of breath. Locke licked his lips nervously, focusing on the script he had long-spent rehearsing in his mind.

"I couldn't tell you before, because… well…" Locke squeezed his eyes shut through excruciating levels of humiliation, "I… well… I was nervous as hell… still am… if I'm honest." Locke shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, then removed them again. He held his arms stiffly at his sides and then, with a creeping sense of awkwardness, replaced them back in his pockets once more.

"What is it?" Celes asked, bewildered, "should I be worried about something…?"

"Look Celes, you have to promise not to tell Cid… I don't want to wake up with robotic arms or something…" He paused, a faint frown line of deliberation wrinkling his brow. "Actually that would be incredible."

"Locke!"

"Right," Locke continued with a small shake of his head. "Celes, I know you thought I was speaking about Rachel when you overheard me in the Phoenix Cave… but I was speaking about _you_." Celes stared at him in disbelief.

"I don't understand," she stated bluntly. Locke shifted uncomfortably as he sought to dredge up details long buried in the loch of their past.

"I was there on Solitary Island, with you and Cid. Only, you never knew that. You see, Cid said it would take a miracle to save you… so…"

"So you…" Celes interjected, her voice suddenly as hoarse as Terra's.

"So I… went looking for a miracle!" Locke raised an eyebrow roguishly. "Yeah, Cid thought it best not to tell you, in case I didn't return." He exhaled through his nose contemptuously. "He obviously underrated my adventuring skills! I agreed, but I left my favourite bandanna for you to find…"

Celes swallowed with difficulty and groped around in her bag. In one trembling hand, she lifted the purple-and-white striped piece of material up to the light.

"Yeah, the purple one," Locke continued with a nod, "so you'd know I had been there. I guess you never got the hint, eh?" Celes opened and closed her mouth soundlessly. With a howl of fury, she threw the scarf at him.

"I carried this around for months _thinking you were dead!_" she spat. Celes brushed a few loose strands of blonde hair back with a shaking hand, trying to steady her breathing. "Sorry, it's just a bit much to take in… Why didn't you tell me about all this in the Phoenix Cave?" Locke dropped his voice to a gentle whisper.

"I know, I know. What with the apocalypse and all, there was never a good time to explain. The lie ended up getting bigger and bigger... especially when _you_ insisted that we visited Kohlingen so I could get some closure before travelling to Kefka's Tower!" Locke rolled his eyes and scratched the back of his head. "Besides, I wasn't expecting you to just turn up in that cave!"

"Right."

"So, what do you say we put all this behind us now?" Locke passed the bandanna back to Celes. She glared at the striped cloth, then her eyes met Locke's hopeful gaze. In one fluid motion, she snatched the scarf back.

"I think I can just about manage that, considering everything you did in order to save me." Locke, barely suppressing a smile of relief, playfully tried to tug the bandanna from her grasp. Celes pulled back on the material persistently, forcing Locke to stumble over his own foot. He lurched forward and caught her by the arms. With a gasp, Celes planted one foot behind herself to keep their balance. Her shoulders shook with laughter.

"Smooth!" she chided him impishly. Locke had grounded his own feet, but his hands were still clasped around her wrists. Celes felt his thumb tenderly trail the palm of her hand. She raised her eyes to Locke's face and, with a sudden thrill of daring, opened her mouth to ask the question that had plagued her for so long throughout their journey together.

"Are you really going to forgive him that easily?" Setzer interrupted. He paused to light his pipe, while the pair's heads snapped over in his direction. "Remember the time he believed you were an Imperial spy?" Locke glanced at Celes in horror. Her face had set like stone.

"Yes, I do…" She sighed and, releasing herself from Locke's grip, stalked away towards The Falcon. The adventurer stared longingly after her.

"Why do that?!" Locke exploded.

"Nothing like a little friendly competition," Setzer mused, raising his pipe to his pale lips. He puffed thoughtfully for a moment, then lowered the implement once more. "How about a little wager, Locke? 100, 000 gil to the first man who claims Celes Chere's heart." Locke's eyebrows almost disappeared into his startled-looking hair.

"Why in the world would you want to place a bet like that?" he gasped. Setzer widened his eyes incredulously.

"Why _wouldn't_ I, do you mean?" He raised a white hand, and began to tick off his list of reasons. "In descending order… I have a multitude of airship repairs to pay out for, my lifelong dream is still to marry Maria-"

"Celes is Celes. Not Maria," Locke interrupted impatiently. Setzer ignored him.

"The thrill of the chase… I may have a gambling problem, did I mention that one? No?" Locke heaved a sigh. He wanted very much to say no, but the thought of all that money coupled with the image of Setzer's hand in Celes' made his stomach churn.

"We have an agreement," Locke announced holding out a hand, "but literally because the _only_ way you'll marry Celes is over my dead body. Got it?" Setzer clasped the treasure-hunter's hand warmly.

~̃*~*~̃

Back at The Falcon's helm, Celes, Locke, Terra, Sabin, Edgar and Setzer stood amassed around the hole where the airship's joystick had once stood. The space was now occupied by a broom handle. Regardless, Setzer had still successfully started up the aircraft's engines and, with a tremendous amount of wiggle-power, was attempting to steer The Falcon around in large circles until they could sink down into a calm patch of ocean.

"What now?" Terra asked dryly.

"Some long over-due breakfast…" Setzer scratched at his greying stubble thoughtfully, "…then, after a bit more botched repair work, I think probably we should paddle over to Narshe to pick up all those South Continental dwellers that we left stranded there three days ago." Locke gave a sudden gasp of realisation, slapping his palm against his forehead in horror.

"Oh shoot! I forgot to go back and say goodbye… _possibly_ forever this time, to Rachel," he mourned. Setzer threw his head back and laughed.

"Don't lie, you've never managed that before," Celes countered acidly. Edgar, Sabin and Setzer all gave a sharp intake of breath. Locke turned for a retort, but lost his nerve.

"True," he conceded simply.

"Anyway, time to pick up where we left off with the party!" Edgar clicked his fingers and Ultros appeared with a new ice-box of Figaro beers, hugging it to his bloated face to ease the swelling.

"Another round!" Setzer announced, passing bottles to each of the Returners minus Sabin who, despite enduring a lifetime of stressful situations, was still successfully upholding his vow of abstinence. There came the tinkling of glass as everyone took turns in clinking their bottles (including Sabin's air drink). Thousands of feet below, the green and brown canvas of the land rolled itself out beneath them.

"Hey Edgar," Terra croaked as she grabbed his shoulder playfully, "would you say these last few days have been complete chaos?" The young King had to swallow hastily to avoid spitting out a mouthful of beer in surprise.

"Why, I guess they have been!" he agreed.

"So, now we know what_ lies beyond chaos_ don't we?"

"What's that then?" Edgar asked, the true meaning of Terra's cryptic, little game lost on him.

Laughing, Terra pointed towards the blue and gold-flecked skyline.

**THE END**

"Damnation!" cried Setzer, swerving The Falcon into a sharp left-turn, "who left those giant letters there?!"

~̃*~*~̃

I hope that you enjoyed this adventure and will return for more of the same nonsense in the sequel **What Ultros Did Next And Other Strange Tales**!

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. This is my first completed fic and, while I'm really pleased that I made it to the end, I'm also a little gutted that it's over! Any feedback is greatly appreciated, so please review your thoughts and I can incorporate this into my other work. Thank you! Katenesse xx :)


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